The Affair of the Red Leech
by Jenz127
Summary: COMPLETE! An attempt on the life of her Majesty Queen Victoria throws the Royal Court into uproar. Can Holmes and Watson solve the case before they also fall victim to the deadly Red Leech? Please Read and Review!
1. CONFIDENTIAL

**CONFIDENTIAL----CONFIDENTIAL---CONFIDENTIAL---CONFIDENTIAL**

The following documents pertaining to the case given the appellation of 'The Affair of the Red Leech' are **STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL**. The nature of the personages affected by this case have compelled this account, compiled in 1895 by Dr John H. Watson, to be considered too inflammatory to be released into the public sphere.

Thereby, on the orders of Her Majesty's Government, the following narrative is **HIGHLY SENSITIVE**.

Furthermore, we the undersigned, pledge to do all in our power to keep this account from the public record for as long as it is pertinent to do so.

Signed:

_Victoria Regina _Queen of England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland, Empress of India

_Sir James Montague_ Home Secretary

_Sir Roderick Hamley_ Her Majesty's Chief of Intelligence

_Sherlock Holmes_

_Dr John Watson_


	2. Prologue

**Hello! Welcome to my new fic, 'The Affair of the Red Leech'! I am going to be doing this and 'The Case of the Cursed Treasure' in tandem. Just to set the scene, this is set during 1895, Post-Reichenbach. The characterisations are based, as usual, upon the marvellous Jeremy Brett and David Burke. **

**Oh, and please, please Read and Review.**

**Normal Disclaimers Apply. **

**Prologue**

March 1895

The alarm was raised at one o'clock in the morning. By five past the hour, Buckingham Palace, and the entire resident Royal Court was in uproar. Her Majesty, Queen Victoria of the United Kingdom, was in the throes of some terrible fever - an illness like no other, and it was suspected that the great lady should not last out the night. She had been feeling strange most of the day, complaining at lunchtime of a stomach-ache. The Royal Physician had been summoned, and the Queen was prescribed powders for the ache, and sleep. Afterwards, she seemed altogether a little more recovered. Her ladies, including her youngest daughter, the Princess Beatrice, had been in attendance with her, and she had retired to bed at the usual time of ten o'clock.

She had awoken in agonising pain. The Royal Physician had been called, but he did not attend. Another physician was summoned. The Queen had hallucinations - of Albert, her dead husband, and Eddy, her favourite grandson, also dead. Slowly and surely, she was fading.

It was decided that the Queen's sons and daughters should be called - those, of course, who were in close proximity to the Royal Palace. Princess Beatrice was already present, the only lady close to the Queen who was, at this time, allowed admittance to her bedchamber. The call was about to go up, when someone noticed something.

Something red was latched upon Her Majesty's neck. With all due haste it was removed, and then, everything went still and quiet. Her Majesty's fever had broken. She was safe and alive.

The physician in attendance took the 'thing', for want of a better word, and studied it. He was most surprised, indeed astonished, to find that the creature was a leech. The redness was due to it's being full of blood. But was it poisonous? It was surely an attempt on the life of her Majesty. And the only person with the knowledge to manufacture and introduce such a thing was The Royal Physician, was it not? He was sent for. Officers of Her Majesty went to his surgery, his house and the houses of his relatives to find him, with the cry of "Treason!" upon their lips. The man was found at the house of his elder brother, and arrested, facing the possible penalty of death, and all the time protesting his innocence.

His brother believed his cries, and considered his possible actions. He went to the Queen's agents, and was told that there was only one man who could potentially clear his name - for they too believed that there may be some merit in the young doctor's words. And so the brother duly decided his course. He would take this monstrous affair of a red leech, with the full backing of her Majesty's Government, to the residents of 221B Baker Street.


	3. Client

**Chapter 1**

There a number of cases which, over the years, I have tempted the public with - for example, the Monstrous Case of the Giant Rat of Sumatra and The Mystery pertaining to the Amateur Mendicant Society. One of the worse and most distressing of these has to be the Affair of the Red Leech - the only case of Holmes' of my knowledge, which has been censored by the British Government due to it's potentially disastrous effects on affairs of the realm. These notes then are for my own private records, until it may be prudent to release the details to the general public.

It was a sunny day in the middle of March 1895 when the first news was brought to us of the case. My friend had, for want of a better phrase, 'returned from the grave' some 11 or 12 months previously, and we were know happily ensconced in Baker Street, my own grief at the premature passing of my wife, Mary eased a little at the easy company of my dearest and best friend, Mr Sherlock Holmes. On this day, we returned from the denouement of a case at around noon, excitement and the fair light of success making us giddy and happy. We arrived in the sitting room to find a spread awaiting us on the table, and with little encouragement sat down to eat.

"Well, Watson," my friend said, his eyes alight with joy, "That was a resounding success, was it not?"

"It was rather. Well done, Holmes."

"You know, my dear fellow, it is these sort of days that makes one happy to be alive. A case come to a very satisfactory end, a good friend to share lunch with…"

"My dear fellow, you are positively effusive today."

Holmes smirked and bowed slightly "Thank you, My dear Watson."

"Full of the joys of Spring…"

"Don't go too overboard, Watson."

I laughed, and poured myself a cup of tea.

"We are having an absolute cavalcade of cases at the moment, Holmes," I remarked. For this had been the sixth case that we had had this month. Indeed, ever since Holmes' return to London, it seemed as though we were busier than ever. For the last twelve months, I could count on the fingers of one hand the times when we had been without occupation. Gone were the days of letters about missing dogs, rabbits and lead pencils. For now the days of cases on intrigue, mystery and international importance were upon us.

"And all of the greatest interest…" mused Holmes.

"The only downside is the lamentable state of our flat."

Indeed, it was a mess. The amount of work that we were doing, twinned with Mrs Hudson's annual trip to the West Country to visit an old aunt meant that our flat had not been cleaned and tidied for at least a week and a half. The job of housekeeper at the moment was shared between Mrs Carstairs, who acted as cook, and young Johnny, her son, who showed guests and clients into our quarters. Both had refused point blank to even enter the sitting room, yet alone clean, after Holmes, during a chemical experiment, had produced a noxious gas which had led to the evacuation of half of the street.

Following several confrontations in the flat, and several instances of Holmes throwing sheaves of paper around left, right and centre, our lounge was constantly covered in a light covering of papers, maps and books, and there were several pieces of broken crockery, not to mention a torn curtain resident in the lounge with us. After the curtain 'incident' (when Holmes was thrown so violently against the wall by the man that we were pursuing that the curtain split - rather artfully covering Holmes' assailant and making it impossible for him to fight back), my friend had tried to induce me to sew up the tear with catgut, until I reminded him that not only was the catgut not of the same colour of the curtain, but also that I had no experience of sewing fabric together at all. Holmes had sulked most of the day in a rather childish manner, but I had remained firm. We would have to wait, and face the wrath of Mrs Hudson when she returned. Well, Holmes would. I had determined to be absent that day. The library, perhaps? Or maybe fishing? Or a ride?

"Yes, well…" said Holmes, "It will not be long until Mrs Hudson returns from her holiday."

"And won't she be pleased to be back?" I asked dryly.

"I imagine that the cries will be heard from Regent's Street…or possibly further."

"Yes…" we looked at each other, then at the room. "Perhaps we had better tidy up before she comes."

"That may be a good idea. It can wait until tomorrow though…"

"Of course. Or possibly even the day after that…"

There was a sudden knock at the door, and we turned as Johnny entered. A small boy, of about twelve, he was still in the business of learning how exactly to behave, but he was getting there. He held out a silver tray, carrying a calling-card.

"A client?" I asked the boy.

"I should say so, sir."

Holmes passed the calling-card to me, and I read the name out loud. "Captain the Lord Jack Darcy, Earl of Rossinghythe. Good Lord, Holmes."

We both turned to survey the mess. My friend turned to Johnny. "Tell the gentleman that we are busy for the moment, and bring him up in five minutes…"

The boy nodded, and left the room. Meanwhile, Holmes and I had flung ourselves into clearing the mess - pushing papers and books into drawers and behind seats, moving days worth of breakfasts and lunches from the table to Holmes' bedroom, throwing broken crockery into a cupboard. Soon, all we had to do was cover the unsightly rip in the curtain. With a sudden cry of triumph, Holmes run into his room, and returned with the rather gruesome wax bust he had had made in Europe. It covered the rip exactly. Although to be honest, I reckoned that it looked rather worse than the rip.

"Do you think that's wise, Holmes?"

"Wise?"

"Well, you are apt to scare the poor man away with that terrible bust."

"Oh, come, Watson. It's not that bad."

"It has been shot through the forehead."

"And…?"

"It looks like a hunting trophy."

"I think it is rather good…"

We heard the sound of footsteps approaching and stopped squabbling. The door opened and Johnny showed a young man into the room. On second consideration though, he was not so young as he had first appeared. Whilst his face was unlined and handsome, his brown hair was greying slightly at the temples and his eyes seemed to radiate good-humoured maturity. I estimated his age at around four and thirty. He walked in an upright manner, and it was easy to see that he was of the higher echelons of society. The man's countenance was worried, and I could tell that he had something bearing upon him which was quite distressing. He smiled wanly at us, and said "Good afternoon, gentlemen. My name is Jack Darcy. I hope that I have caused no disturbance?"

"None at all," said Holmes, charitably. "Please sit, and tell us about yourself. Apart from the fact that you are a bachelor, an intellectual, a member of the Royal Court and a writer, I know nothing at all about you."

The man's face registered surprise for an instant, before he smiled. "May I ask how you know all these things, Mr Holmes?"

"Watson?" Holmes turned to me, and I sighed, considering the man before answering.

"You have no wedding or engagement rings, denoting the fact that you are a bachelor. Also, if you will pardon me, your general state of dress," the man grinned, "suggests your marital status. That you are an intellectual is shown by your having a used ticket stub for the new exhibition at the British Museum peeking from your pocket. Your being a member of the Royal Court is shown by the medallion of Her Majesty's crest worn on your watch-chain. And your being a writer is demonstrated by the ink on your hands, the worn patch on your right sleeve…"

"And the ridge on your right fore- and middle-fingers. A common affliction for those who write a great deal." Holmes finished, as I floundered a little.

The man smiled, genuinely, and I resolved that I liked him. "You are right in every particular, gentlemen. But I think I may safely claim that you can have no idea why I am come here today, Mr Holmes."

Holmes looked intrigued "Please continue, Lord Darcy. Give us the entire picture, including all possible details, if you please."

"Very well, I…" Jack, who had been casting his gaze around the room, caught sight of the bust. He stared at it for an instant, obviously losing his train of thought. Holmes coughed, and the man shook himself from his reverie and continued. "I believe that the first thing I should tell you, Mr Holmes, is that I was sent here by your brother, Mr Mycroft Holmes. He is somewhat of a friend of mine, and he said I should come to you, with the full backing of the British Government."

Holmes straightened at this, and I found myself staring at the man. These were deep waters indeed! A man from the Royal Court…sent by the British Government…

"I must tell you, Mr Holmes, that it is imperative that no word of what I am about to tell you goes any further than between the two of you. Do you understand? For this is important to National Security."

We both nodded, and the gentleman continued.

"I should perhaps tell you a little about myself…I am the Earl of Rossinghythe, as you will have seen on my card. Our family seat is Rossington Hall, in the middle of the Cornish countryside. I live there alone when I am at home, although I have two younger brothers - David and Richard, and a younger sister, Anne. Most of my time is spent at the Royal Court, however, in London or wherever the Queen may be. After my accession to the title six years ago, I was also appointed one of her Majesty's equerries, due to my serving in the army as a young man. My brother, David, was appointed Royal Physician."

"May I ask the age of your brother?" asked Holmes.

"He is but two and thirty. One of the youngest Royal physicians ever appointed."

"But something has happened that may affect your reputations?"

Jack nodded, and said "You are very intuitive, Mr Holmes. It has. Last night, an attempt was made on the life of our Sovereign Majesty."

At this, both Holmes and I shot up from our chairs, aghast. Both Holmes and I have a great deal of patriotism in our veins, and to hear this…!

"Is she well?" I asked, feeling my voice falter slightly.

"Yes. She was attacked by some sort of leech."

"A what?"

"A leech. A red leech."

"Dear Heaven," I heard Holmes murmur.

"The creature…whatever it was, was died on the instant it was removed. And as soon as it was taken from her Majesty's person, she was instantly better again, the fever gone completely. But there is no doubt that she was close to death. No doubt at all."

"Your brother was present?" I asked.

"No, Doctor. He was not. At that point in time, my brother was at Rossington. He had been called to her Majesty, who was feeling ill, earlier in the day. He later journeyed down to spend the weekend with me. The first we heard of all this business was when Officers of Her Majesty came to arrest him on suspicion of treason. They believe that he introduced the leech onto her person when examining her, you see."

"And you believe him innocent?" said Holmes, quietly.

"He is my brother, Mr Holmes. I believe him innocent until proven guilty. My brother is a Doctor, and I do not think that he is capable of taking a life in such a manner."

Holmes nodded. "We have her Majesty's approval to investigate this?"

Jack smiled, "In her way, she is very fond of my brother, and myself. She does not think he did it, and she wants to find out who did. On the condition that this will go no further than you, and members of the Royal Household and Court, there will be no impediments to your investigation."

"Thank you," I said softly. "That is appreciated."

Holmes waved the man to his feet, and ushered him to the door. The man was obviously surprised, but said nothing. Holmes held out his hand and Jack grasped it, shaking it warmly. "Thank you, Mr Holmes. I knew you would help us."

"For Queen and Country," said Holmes, quietly.

"What will you do now?"

"Watson and I will go and see my brother at Whitehall. If it is convenient, I will then need an audience with Her Majesty…"

"That can be seen to. This afternoon, I take it?"

"Yes. And lastly, perhaps this evening, we will need to see your younger brother."

Jack nodded, "I will arrange it all, sir. Thank you. I will telegraph your brother as to the time for your audience with the Queen, and be waiting for you both at the entrance of the Palace."

"Thank you, Lord Darcy," I said, gratefully.

The man smiled, and left. Holmes turned to me. "Well, well. A national emergency, Watson."

"A potential assassination attempt, old man. We will need to tread carefully."

"Yes, we will. Now, I suggest a change of clothes fit for meeting royalty, and then a cab to Whitehall to talk to brother mine and await our telegram. Agreed?"

"Absolutely." I said, quickly, and took the stairs to my bedroom at a run, to try and find my best suit.


	4. Brother Mycroft

**Chapter 2**

As I have said, it was a sunny day, which showed no signs of raining, so after a quick change into clothes suitable for meeting Her Majesty we decided to walk to Mycroft Holmes' house in Pall Mall. There was, before we left, a long-winded debate with Holmes about whether or not to we ought to wear proper evening attire or just our best day-suits. In the absence of Mrs Hudson, we decided on our smartest day-wear, something which I am sure our housekeeper would have baulked at, and insisted that we wear something smarter. I was, however, won around by Holmes' argument that we did not want to wear anything too smart if we were to pay a visit to a prison later, and that he was sure that Her Majesty would understand, and indeed, would probably not even care what we were wearing.

This exchange was heard by Johnny, the terrible little child, who had the impertinence to suggest that if the Great Lady would not care what we were wearing, perhaps we should save time altogether by venturing to the palace in a state of complete undress. Needless to say that this comment was met well be neither myself nor Holmes, and we not only spoke to him rather sternly, but also told his mother of his remarks. As we left, I saw a vindictive grin cross Holmes' lips as the boy's mother started to box his ears.

We walked through the streets of London quickly, arriving at Mycroft's large and imposing house along Pall Mall. The house seemed to be a veritable hive of activity that morning, with large numbers of smartly dressed young men buzzing about the place. We spoke to the butler, and were shortly shown up into Mycroft's library. Inside, we found Mycroft Holmes in more a state of activity than I, at least, have ever seen him. Holmes' corpulent, usually lazy elder brother stood behind a desk, directing secretaries and clerks to different places, and at the same time holding conversation with two very official looking men.

He looked up and saw us, and we were beckoned over. "Ah, Sherlock, m'dear. And Doctor Watson. We have been awaiting your arrival." We were introduced to Mr Lazenby and Mr Oglander, both men who apparently did not possess first names. We were informed that the gentlemen were both members of Her Majesty's Intelligence Forces. I noticed Holmes stiffen slightly at this, as if he believed that the excitement of handling this remarkable case was to be taken away. I remarked to myself that he looked rather comically disappointed, standing there, as if he were a child at Christmas-time being told that the present he had found under the tree was in fact for a sibling. He was, however, much to mine, and his relief, proved quite wrong in these fears.

"Now, Sherlock," said Mycroft, "And you listen too, Doctor. These gentlemen are going to be handing all aspects pertaining to the investigation of this abominable crime to you. You are, as I have pointed out, the best in this line of business, and these gentlemen are severely under-staffed and busy already, without having to examine this case too."

"I understand," said Holmes. "Watson and I will be given complete freedom to investigate this matter?"

"Yes," came the reply from Lazenby. "Complete freedom. We wish to capture the people who attempted this assassination, and despite arresting the physician, we are of the opinion that the man is guiltless."

"What are all these people doing?" I asked, motioning at the large groups of young men.

"The story," said Mycroft, "Has already started to seep through even our best efforts. These gentlemen are here to re-write history. Nothing must be known of the dreadful occurrences of last night. It will cause wide-spread panic and disorder."

"Re-write history?" I was puzzled.

"They are going to change the records of what happened last night - give out false stories to the world's press."

"And we," said Lazenby, "Are going into Europe to try and determine the affects that this has had on the European situation."

"Dear heavens," I muttered.

Holmes meanwhile, looked, if anything, a little bored. He surveyed the room, then spoke to Mycroft. "Well, brother mine, it seems I become useful to the government yet again."

"It does rather," said Mycroft, and shot a small smile at me. "Although I do believe that many of the older government ministers were somewhat under the misapprehension that you were still dead." I choked, trying not to laugh, as Holmes turned a disapproving glance towards me.

"What do you mean, still dead?"

"Well, they are a little doddery, it must be confessed. Many of them have not read a newspaper in ten years. And if they do read it, they forget the details shortly after. Or," the elder brother said, mischievously, "They just do not class the information as important and promptly put it out of their minds."

"Thank you, Mycroft."

"Always a pleasure, m'dear."

Lazenby and Oglander departed shortly after, and we made our way to some seats, to sit in front of the library's great fire. Of course, it was not alight today, but it did provide a nice place to sit and smoke. I have to admit though, that I was rather nervous. Not about being in the house of Mycroft Holmes - I had been in his presence and in his house so many times now, I no longer felt myself somewhat awestruck around him. And it was not the case either, although it promised to be a case of uncommon danger and horror. No, it was the prospect of meeting the Queen which unsettled me.

Those of you reading this may scoff at me for being afraid of a little old lady, no taller than a couple of inches over five foot. She did, however have some power over the ordinary man which was remarkable. Before meeting her that day, I had mostly only seen her at a distance, but even then, the woman seemed to hold sway over people as I have seen no other person do. Except, perhaps, my friend Sherlock Holmes.

We waited by the fire for a couple of hours, and it was half past the hour of three before a telegram arrived for Holmes and myself. Holmes handed it to me to read, an action which raised a smile from Mycroft. It read as follows; MR HOLMES AND DR WATSON STOP APPOINTMENT MADE FOR YOU TO SEE THE QUEEN AT HALF PAST FOUR STOP DO NOT BE LATE STOP WILL BE AT ENTRANCE STOP DARCY. I finished, and looked up at Holmes, who glanced at his pocket watch. "We have an hour, Watson. The palace is only five minutes away, and we should be there twenty minutes before our appointment, which means that we have thirty-five minutes to entrust into the hands of fate. Ideas, Mycroft?"

"Well, if you were both ordinary, you would sit in front of this warming fire until the time that you must leave. But as you, Sherlock, are notoriously bad at keeping still, and you, Doctor, are as jumpy as a jack-in-the-box this afternoon, I would prescribe a walk."

I nodded, and saw Holmes twitch a smile at his brother, before calling for our coats. When he was gone, Mycroft whispered into my ear "Do not be nervous, Doctor. Her Majesty is a marvel at putting people at their ease. She is really quite a remarkable woman."

I chuckled at my own foolishness, and after bidding good day to Mycroft, we left him in his hive of activity to walk along the road slowly, passing a number of private houses and gentleman's clubs. We walked slowly, purposely stalling for time, arm-in-arm. We eventually turned onto the Mall, the road that runs parallel to Pall Mall, and leads to the great Buckingham Palace. In recent years, the Palace had fallen into disuse rather, but Her Majesty did on occasions use the Palace, when Windsor Castle was not available. I mused that the place probably reminded her of the husband she had lost - and felt, for a moment a spirit of sympathy for the woman. My house in Kensington was a curse rather than a blessing after the death of my poor, darling wife, and to be honest, I had been ecstatic when Holmes had asked me to leave it behind.

I was lost in my reverie and in my memories, when I felt my companion's eyes upon me. "Watson?" he said, quietly, his features concerned.

"It's nothing Holmes."

"Hardly nothing, old fellow. You were thinking of your wife."

I looked at him in utter amazement. "Do not tell me you have become telepathic?"

Holmes grinned "No, my dear fellow. Not yet…"

"Not yet? Do you hope to in the future?"

"Well," said Holmes, and I could tell he was joking with me now, "You never know. It would be deucedly useful, Watson."

"You seem to get on quite well without it. Well, how did you know?"

"Your visage always assumes a quiet, pensive appearance when I have observed you think of your wife." I sighed. Holmes continued quietly, "Do you still miss her?"

"I always will." Then I looked up, and caught the look on his face - hurt and…guilt? "But your being here has been more of a comfort to me than I can say."

Holmes smiled quickly, and we both looked away, slightly embarrassed by this heartfelt conversation - in public as well! We continued down the Mall, still arm-in-arm, and saw the tall, well-dressed figure of Lord Darcy standing by the beautiful, huge front gates. Behind them stood, in my opinion, the most beautiful palace in London - although I would argue, in the world.


	5. The Duchess

**Chapter 3**

We walked toward the man - toward the palace, its white walls and golden gates gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight. At the gates were the traditional soldiers dressed in the red coats, black trousers and bearskin hats which were their distinguishing feature. Lord Darcy walked over to meet us, and shook us both by the hand, before leading us through the great gates, towards the palace. We were, of course, not going through the front doors, rather by a side door, near to the Royal Mews, where Her Majesty's horses and the great Royal Carriage used at special occasions. We walked into a lobby, or hall area, and I had to stop. The place was grander and more ornate than I had ever seen before. White marble, gold and red carpets were the first things which took my notice, along with the very size of the room.

Holmes looked back to where I had stopped, a small smile on his lips. "Watson?" he said, his voice containing a barely suppressed laugh at the look of sheer amazement on my face. I met his eyes, smiled and continued, marvelling at the sheer opulence of the place. Darcy looked back at us, and seemed to be schooling his features into an attitude of indifference, although his eyes sparkled humorously. We went up one set of stairs, then another, and another, and I felt myself getting completely lost in this veritable rabbit warren. Holmes went before me, and to some astonishment on my part, seemed to know exactly where he was going. I was not aware of his going to Buckingham Palace before, but then again, knowing him, he might have disguised himself and snuck in, for some nefarious purpose.

We continued through the grand corridors, until we reached a great oak door. Darcy turned to us and spoke. "Gentlemen, there are a series of rooms you must pass through before we arrive in the Presence Chamber of Her Majesty…"

"It sounds," said Holmes, "Like the Labours of Hercules."

Darcy smiled "I assure you there will be nothing like that. The next room houses the Royal Court, and then as you progress through the rooms, only certain people can pass into the next chamber without due permission. The Presence Chamber is only open to Her Majesty - of course, Her family, her invited guests, of which you are, her equerries, her personal secretary, her ladies-in-waiting and the Lord Chamberlain. It is the place where meetings take place, and a great deal of the Queen's meetings with her citizens are done."

We walked into the first room. It was large, and well furnished, and full of people - secretaries, Whitehall Officials, Members of Parliament. Most were young men, a few older men, and perhaps one female typist. Some of the people I recognised - mostly from the newspapers, although a couple who nodded to us respectfully I recognised as having come, at one time or another, to ask for Holmes' help in certain matters which I will not disclose here.

We continued to the next room. It was smaller, but with more paintings upon the walls - of various ancestors of our great monarch, and the people inside looked slightly more important. I noticed a couple of the men greet Darcy with a smile, and he nodded back. All of a sudden, I noticed that a young woman was walking towards us from the direction of the door to the next room.

Anyone with even a modicum of knowledge of society matters will know who I mean when I say that the woman was the Duchess of Perthshire. She is one of the most famous beauties of the court - with rich, dark auburn hair and captivating dark blue eyes, a slender figure and a relatively tall stature. She was the most eligible unmarried woman in England - beautiful, as I have mentioned, witty and intelligent. Her title, also, I expect, part of the ladies' attraction, had been passed down to her by her father. She was the eldest of six sisters, and at the age of 19, four years ago, her father had died, leaving her with titles, wealth and land. Her father had been in possession of only one possible male heir, a distant cousin - a silly, foppish young wastrel, so it was a well-publicised event when the gentleman had died, and unexpectedly left all his fortune and titles to his eldest daughter.

Magdalena Grey (for that is her name) was not only famed for her beauty, but also rather unfavourably for her nature, which was cold, hard and aloof, even positively cruel at some times. Her younger sisters were her only family members, and whilst she was kind to them, she never displayed any kind of love for them. In her duties as lady-in-waiting to the Queen she was also said to be loyal, courteous, but uncompassionate.

She approached us, and said, in a clipped, icy tone, "Good morning, Rossinghythe."

"Your Grace. We are here to see Her Majesty. If I may introduce Mr Holmes and Dr Watson?"

The Duchess studied us, looking us up and down, before sighing. She gave us no greeting, but instead said "You are early. You had better come this way."

Without another word, she turned, and started to walk away. Holmes and I glanced at each other, and followed her, Lord Darcy bringing up the rear.

It is not often that I take a instant dislike to a person, let alone a lady, but with the Duchess of Perthshire, I made an exception. She was, as the reports in the papers and gossip columns had said, cold. But there was something more - something snobbish and inhospitable about the woman. She looked down upon us as if we were no more than stray dogs, and obviously saw even the illustriously titled Rossinghythe as beneath her. I, however, found far more worth in his actions and his demeanour than I did in hers. We stopped outside a particular room, with a somewhat more ornate door, and Lady Grey turned to us, "Wait here."

She slipped inside the room, and I heard Rossinghythe laugh behind me. "You do not like her," he said.

"No, I do not," I said, quickly.

Holmes seemed to be considering something, because there was a pause before he said "The lady does not make a good first impression. There is something which speaks of cruelty in her, which I do not necessarily like."

"Lady Grey does not wish to be liked," said Rossinghythe.

I looked at him in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that the lady is not the sort of woman who courts acclaim or popularity. She is beautiful, yes. But she is not a warm person. I used to know her when her father lived. He was a good man, but even then, she was not compassionate nor particularly loving."

"Her sisters?" I asked.

"She gives them money, has the second sister living with her in London, is attentive to their education and schoolwork, but again…she is not a mother to them. Merely an almost disinterested part of their lives."

Holmes' eyebrows rose. "She does not seem to me to be a particularly sympathetic character."

Rossinghythe smiled, "Not at all, Mr Holmes."

"Then why should Her Majesty choose her as one of her closest companions?"

Lord Darcy shrugged. "That is not for us to know, Mr Holmes. She is fiercely loyal to our Queen and her family…"

"Is that enough?" mused Holmes, quietly, and I stole a glance at him, before the door opened, and the young lady of whom we were talking came into view.

She studied us contemptuously, before saying, "You will come in now. Her Majesty is waiting to see you. In the interests of etiquette, gentlemen, you will bow when you enter the room, and once again, when you are in front of Her Majesty. You will never turn your back to her, and bow twice before leaving her company. Do you understand?"

Holmes looked a little amused at this, whilst I fumed quietly at her condescending tone. "Of course, your Grace," said he.

The doors were opened to us, and we walked in, bowing low. Behind us, I heard Lady Grey whisper to Rossinghythe. "Amateur detectives, Darcy? Honestly, man, what are you doing?"

I gritted my teeth, and Holmes and I were ushered before Her Majesty.


	6. Her Majesty

**Thank you for reviewing! Your comments are always appreciated! **

**Chapter 4**

Her Majesty sat resplendent upon a large chair, golden and red, and almost like the kind of chairs you read of in fairy-tales. She was not the most pre-possessing of people, but there was something rather singular about her, something in her manner, which spoke of hidden depths. I only realised that I was staring rather rudely when there was a snicker of laughter from behind me from Lady Grey, and she walked forward.

"Your Majesty," she said, and dipped into a low, respectful curtsey. "Mr Holmes, Dr Watson, Lord Darcy."

"Thank you, Magdalena," said the Queen, and motioned her to go and stand to her left, with three other ladies in waiting. On her right stood the Princess Beatrice, and the Lord Chamberlain. We walked forward and bowed deeply to the great lady, who nodded back to us. "Mr Holmes, Dr Watson, I must thank you for coming here so quickly." She turned to Darcy "And you, Jack, thank you for your prompt action."

"A pleasure, Your Majesty."

"Is your majesty quite well?" I heard Holmes ask from beside me. I looked at him in surprise. It was not like him to ask after the health of a lady - but then again, I suppose this was no ordinary lady.

"Quite recovered, Mr Holmes. It will take more than an insect to deprive this United Kingdom of her Queen."

"An admirable sentiment, your Majesty."

Her Majesty then turned to me, adding to my nervousness. "And to you, Doctor, welcome. My grandchildren tell me of your narratives in the Strand, and how much they enjoy them. You are a very talented writer…"

"Thank you, Your Majesty," I said, not quite believing what I was hearing.

"Although, from seeing the illustrations, I must say that the illustrator - Mr Paget, is it not - has not really captured your likeness well at all."

"Erm…" was my rather stupefied answer, and I heard Holmes chuckle beside me.

I looked towards the ladies to see them talking quietly amongst themselves. The Princess was not joining in, of course, but Lady Grey and the other women were whispering, sniggering and casting mocking glances at me, and at my friend. I felt my hackles rise, and it was all I could do not to embarrass myself in showing anger in front of our Queen. Lord Darcy came to my rescue, however, walking quietly to stand next to Lady Grey and whispering something in her ear. She glared at him icily, and raised one perfectly-shaped eyebrow, but ceased from talking.

I exchanged a grateful glance with Darcy, who nodded at me. Her Majesty was continuing her dialogue with Holmes. "I must admit myself somewhat uneasy at the attempt upon my life. But at the same time, I do not believe the culprit to be Dr Darcy."

"May I ask why not, Your Majesty?"

"I have known Dr Darcy, as I have known Jack here, for many years. I do not want to think him capable of murder - especially of my murder."

"May I ask you if you remember anything of last night?"

"Of course, Mr Holmes. I spent the afternoon with my ladies here, after suffering a stomach ache in the morning, which was when Dr Darcy came to see me. After a consultation, I felt much better, and indeed, spent the afternoon quite recovered. I retired sometime after dinner, was dressed and read to by my maid Hammond, and then went to bed. I awoke in pain, and do not remember much else."

"Your maid?" I asked, "Has she been with you long?"

"Ever since she was fifteen years old. She is a good woman, and a very proficient maid. It is true that she is not what you would call intelligent, but she does have a kind nature and would not hurt a fly, Doctor. If you would wish to interview her…"

"I do not think that will be necessary," said Holmes.

"Is there anything else of which you would wish to know?"

"Are measures being taken to remove you from London, Your Majesty?" This question was from Holmes, and if the directness of it shocked the lady, she did not exhibit her feelings.

"Yes, Mr Holmes. My daughter, Hammond and I are going down to Osbourne House tomorrow. My ladies will stay in London to give the impression that I am still resident in the Palace. Lord Darcy will also stay, so that if there is anything you need for your investigation, I am sure that he will be at your service."

This was met by a nod from Lord Darcy. Her Majesty rose from her seat. Everyone straightened as she did so, "Mr Holmes, Dr Watson, I thank you for your work to help me. I must go, for I have matters to deal with before our removal from the palace. Good luck in your hunt."

We bowed, and the ladies curtsied, as she left us. She walked, supported at the elbow by her daughter, with the Lord Chamberlain following behind. Three of the Ladies-in-Waiting also made their departure, but not Lady Grey, who walked over to us with Lord Darcy.

We both turned to them, and I was aware that I was grimacing most unbecomingly at the lady. Holmes, meanwhile, wore a look of complete indifference. Lady Grey spoke first, "Are you any closer to an answer to what happened here last night?"

"I am afraid not, Your Grace."

The woman shook her head, "This is not a matter for a private detective and his…" She looked at me in contempt, and then said "bodyguard. We should have the professionals here, or at least Her Majesty's intelligence."

I spoke before I really realised what I was saying, "Your rudeness does you no credit, my lady."

Instead of looking shamed, the woman studied me as if she were bored, and said icily, "Why on earth should I wish to be seen as having credit by you, sir?" With that, she turned and walked out of the door, not even bidding us a good day.

"Rather sharp-tongued, is she not, gentlemen?" said Lord Darcy, smiling slightly.

"Yes," I said, shaking my head, "You would think the lady had no concept of society or manners."

Lord Darcy smiled "You would think… Now, gentlemen, I must leave you. I have some business with Her Majesty. You know your way out? Good. You have about half-an-hour until there will be a cab waiting outside to take you to where my brother is held." His face fell for a moment, and a great deal of sadness seemed to come over him, before he said, "Tell him all is not lost."

Holmes held out his hand, and the man shook it, "I will tell him, My Lord."

"Thank you," said Darcy. "Good day to you."

He disappeared through the same door that all the others had exited through, and I turned to Holmes, "What do you think of it, old man?"

"There is some plot - a terrible danger here. It is good that Her Majesty is going off to the Isle of Wight. I hope she will be well guarded."

"It is perhaps just as good that that woman is not going with her."

"'That woman', Watson?" Holmes grinned "What has happened to my chivalrous Boswell?"

"How could any man be chivalrous to such a woman?"

Holmes chuckled, "Well, I must agree with you there. She is not the most pleasant of individuals."

"And you are a master of the understatement."

"What do you think of Lord Darcy, Watson?" Holmes asked, changing the subject completely.

I considered for a moment. "He seems to me one of the most genuine men I have ever met. Do you agree?"

"Absolutely. There are only a few men I have met in my life who have struck me from first meeting as entirely good. You are one of them. Lord Darcy is another. In fact, he only has one flaw, that I have seen."

"What is that?"

"You did not notice? He is completely in love with Lady Grey."

"But…how…?"

"Just because I have never been in love, Watson, does not mean I cannot read the signs in others. The looks that he gives her, the way he has of never insulting her, and of, in fact, deflecting your comments about her and defending her…yes, I do believe he is enamoured of her."

"The poor man…I do not think her capable of loving anyone."

"Hmm…" Holmes seemed to drift into contemplation for a minute, before saying, "Well, my dear fellow, let us try and find our way out of this monstrosity of a palace before Christmas. We have about twenty-five minutes before our cab will be here. This way, I think…" And he led the way out of the door.


	7. Ormerod and Denver

**Chapter 5**

We walked back through the rooms, completely aware that we were being watched as we did so. All of a sudden, a large old man (of about the same size as Mycroft Holmes), pushed himself into our path and said "I wish to know your business here, sirs."

I suddenly realised that it was probably not wise to travel through these rooms without an escort. After the upset of last night, any strangers here would be viewed with the utmost suspicion. I tried to calm the man, who obviously believed that our being here was the herald of doom to Her Majesty. "We are here at the invitation of the Queen, sir. My name is Dr John Watson, and this is my friend and colleague Mr Sherlock Holmes."

The man had relaxed at the beginning of my speech, but sprang to attention by the last part. He eyed Holmes warily and said "I don't believe you…"

Holmes looked mildly offended at this, so I tried to pour oil on troubled waters by saying, "I assure you, sir, I tell the truth."

"I know you to be lying, sir," said the man, "because Mr Sherlock Holmes is dead."

Holmes started and stared at him in utter stupefaction. Meanwhile, I tried to bite back a snort of laughter. "I assure you he is not, sir."

"Well, I am sure of my facts. I am a friend of Mr Mycroft Holmes, and I sent him a card of condolence four years ago, after his brother's death. In fact I sent flowers as well…carnations…" The man's mind began to wander, but then he pulled himself together to say, "Well, who are you then?"

Holmes looked quite outraged by this point, and said, "I assure you sir, I am not dead!" This outburst did not help my composure at all, and I snorted loudly, causing Holmes to look at me as if he would like to throttle me. I smiled sweetly back.

"Young man, do you really think I would not have heard if Mr Sherlock Holmes came back to life?"

"I did not come back to life! I was never dead!"

"Never dead! Huh! You sir, are a blackguard and a bounder. How dare you use the good name of Mr Sherlock Holmes in such a manner? Now who are you?"

I was about to burst out into fits of laughter when we were saved by two men who entered the room. "I say," said the smaller man, who I suspect had heard our conversation "I-Isn't that Sherlock Holmes?"

The large man who had been questioning us looked from one of us to the other, then muttered something about needing a drink, leaving us in the company of our two rescuers. The man who had spoken, the smaller one, I recognised as the young Duke of Malton, Lord Peter Ormerod. He had a shock of pale blond - almost white hair, was clean-shaven, and was really very short - around a foot shorter than me. He was as thin as a rake, with arms longer than they should have been, and short legs. His voice was a little effeminate, with the slight touch of a stutter and a lisp. I have to say that it was rather comical to think that the man standing before me was one of the most eligible bachelors in London.

His friend was his complete opposite. He was plump - the product of overindulgence in rich foods and wines. He was also tall, standing only a little under Holmes' height, and had large, brown mutton chop whiskers. This was rather ironic really, because he had not a hair on his head. They are seemed to have migrated down his face. His youth had apparently been rather adventurous, because he had a large duelling scar down one cheekbone. He smiled personably, but something in Holmes' demeanour told me that he sensed something not quite right in the man.

"Guten Morgan Gentlemen," he said, his voice rich and Germanic. "You are Mr Holmes and Doktor Vatson? I am Ulrich Denver. This is my friend, Lord Ormerod."

We shook hands, Holmes rather stiffly I noticed with the German, and Ormerod spoke. "I t-take it that you are here about what happened l-last night? Terrible business, wasn't it?"

"Quite." I said.

"Do you know Dr Darcy?" Holmes asked. I noticed that he scanned both men's faces vigorously.

Ormerod answered. "D-David is a good friend of mine. A very good friend. We went to Eton together."

"He is a very good man," said Denver. "You think he did this, Mr Holmes?"

Holmes shrugged, as if indifferent to the details of this case. "I do not know enough at the present time to form a hypothesis, Herr Denver."

"Have you formed an opinion, gentlemen?" I asked.

Both men glanced at each other before Ormerod said, "Well, Doctor. B-Between you and me, there are many p-people who would benefit from the death of Her Majesty. Many people."

"You?" asked Holmes, quickly.

Both men looked at him in some shock, before Ormerod answered quickly, "N-N-No, Mr Holmes. We are not nearly so important to warrant a gift from Her Majesty."

"Who is?" I asked, although really I had guessed who might be.

"The Lord Chamberlain, f-for example. Equerries, Personal secretaries, Her Majesty's Ladies-in-Waiting…"

Holmes looked vaguely interested at this. "The Ladies in Waiting?"

"Yes, Mr Holmes. Their g-g-gifts will be particularly sizable on Her Majesty's death."

Holmes went quiet, thoughtful. The two gentlemen bid us good day, and walked away. Meanwhile, we walked through the palace, Holmes still completely silent, until we reached the cab waiting for us outside the palace gates in the Mall. We both got in, and the cabbie whipped the horses up, and we drove in the direction of a large house, which I knew from talking to Holmes was commonly used as a prison for those who were seen as threats to the realm or who were of noble or aristocratic birth.

"Two very interesting gentlemen," said Holmes, quietly, once we had started.

"They seemed very friendly."

"Yes… Ormerod is on the last vestiges of his bank account, I fancy. And Denver is most definitely an alcoholic, and perhaps addicted to something stronger…Opium, I fancy."

I considered for a minute. "Ormerod's clothing was expensive, but not fashionable, and had obviously been mended a number of times, suggesting that he is nearing bankruptcy…"

"Oh, well done, Watson!" Holmes said, enthusiastically, clapping his hands. "You really do underrate your abilities in those narratives of yours, old man."

"Thank you, Holmes. But I do not see where you deduced the things about Denver from."

"That the man is a drinker, and to excess, is shown by his almost lethargic walk and by the way that his pupils are very dilated. His being an addict to opium is demonstrated by the very slight smell of opium on his clothing."

"Good Lord, Holmes," I said, cheekily, "We never need use Toby again! If you ever get short on cases, we could hire you out as a sniffer dog."

"I would ask that you keep your pawky sense of humour to yourself, Watson." He glared at me, but I saw his eyes sparkle slightly before he said, "Despite their circumstances, the two gentlemen have unearthed a rather important clue…"

"The fact that certain people will gain a large amount of money on the death of the Queen?"

"Exactly."

"Including Lady Grey…"

"You really do not like her, Watson, do you?"

"No, I do not."

"You must consider the pros and cons of each suspect. Why should the Lady be motivated by money, if she has such a sizable estate?"

"We do not know how sizable it is, Holmes. What if the lady too, is bankrupt?"

"That is a fair point, Watson. And something to consider. I have to note, Watson, that your dislike of the lady is not completely useful to our investigation."

"I cannot help what I feel, Holmes. _I_ am not only a brain_..._The woman is detestable. I feel immensely sorry for Lord Darcy if he is in love with her."

We approached the house, and Holmes said "Love is blind, dear boy. Or perhaps there is something good about the lady if a man as good as Lord Darcy feels such for her."

"I can believe the former…but not the latter."

Holmes smiled, "To be honest, my friend, I feel the same way." As the cab slowed, he leapt from the carriage (the cab fare having already been paid by Lord Darcy), and started toward the house. "Come, Watson!" said he, "Let us go and meet the unfortunate Dr Darcy!"


	8. Dr Darcy

**Chapter 6**

The house which we entered, befitting its role as an institution for the holding of prisoners of an altogether higher class, was comfortable, if a little sparsely furnished. The jailer (for want of a better term) was a man of middle height, average build and copious white hair, by the name of Roth. He was a surprisingly cheerful man, who greeted Holmes and I like long-lost family members, managing to accomplish in the process of greeting us, making Holmes utterly uncomfortable, which provided me with no end of amusement. After he had enthusiastically embraced both Holmes and I, we were led through the house to a long corridor. Along one side were small windows, giving a view of a small area of garden, and other houses, and even St Paul's in the background. The other side of the corridor comprised of about six or seven doors, at large intervals to each other. We were led to the third door, which Roth knocked upon.

"Come in!" came the voice of the inhabitant.

Roth proceeded to take a set of keys from his pocket, chose one and unlocked the door. Opening it, he waved us in and closed the door behind us. The room, rebelling against the stereotype of the traditional view of a damp, cold cell, was not unpleasant. It was well decorated, spacious and warm, and was furnished with a large bed, fireplace, two sofas and a writing table and chair. The young man who was the occupant sat in this writing chair with his back to us. "Put my food down there, will you Roth?" he said, without turning.

"I am afraid," my friend said "that you have mistaken us, Dr Darcy."

With a start, the young man turned. It was immediately clear to see the familial similarities between David Darcy and his brother. The nose, the ears, the shape of the eyes were all the same. There was a tiredness and lethargy about the man, which I imagined was the result of spending the last day in a state of nervous tension. The man was leaner than his brother, and slightly shorter, with blonde hair instead of dark like Lord Darcy. His hair was slicked across his forehead with dirt and grease, and the poor man looked like he had done nothing but write letters or such all day. Despite his somewhat dishevelled appearance, I took immediately to him. He had the same honest, genuine look as his elder brother, and seemed very personable. He immediately apologised for his mistake and bade us sit.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes. This is my friend and colleague Dr Watson. We come from your elder brother, Dr Darcy. We have been engaged to look into the happenings of last night, and find the culprit of the attack on Her Majesty," said my friend.

"Then you do not think that I played a part in the awful happenings of last night?" The man's voice was so full of hope that my heart was moved by his plight. It seemed that this man was no more a killer than I was.

"The government does not believe you guilty," I said, soothingly, "And nor does your brother."

"Really?"

"Dr Darcy, I wish to know what happened from your point of view last night."

"Alright, Mr Holmes. Well, I was at my practice in Harley Street until eleven o'clock yesterday morning, when I was called to the service of Her Majesty. You see, I have a small practice which demands my time when I am not in Her Majesty's service - very small, mind you, with a clientele mostly made up of those from the Court. I, as you can imagine, abandoned everything, and made my way to the Palace. Her Majesty had stomach pains…"

"Serious?" I asked.

"Not really. Indigestion, I diagnosed. Anyway, I examined her, and gave her something for the pains, but I was sure that they would clear up before the afternoon was over. After my duties at the Palace, I made my way back to my practice, perceiving a lack of patients and appointments, made my way down to Rossington to spend the weekend, if I was able. I was asleep when the officers came, was taken out of the house, and bundled off to London and into this house. I had been here about an hour when a Mr Lazenby came in to tell me what was happening. As you can most probably imagine, I was a little confused."

I nodded in understanding, and Holmes inclined his head a little, before asking, "Can you think of anyone who would have any motive to kill the Queen?"

"What could they hope to achieve? I suppose money might be the motive, but most of the people who money will be bequeathed to are rich in their own right. Besides, when Her Majesty dies, it is quite possible that we shall all be replaced anyway - apart from perhaps the equerries. But I, the ladies-in-waiting, the secretaries…it is quite possible that we will all lose our jobs. The future His Majesty will most probably wish his own staff, and his wife will wish to appoint her own ladies."

"I see," said Holmes. "Dr Darcy, do you have any personal enemies who may wish you ill?" David seemed a little reluctant to speak on, but Holmes said, "My dear man, honesty now may allow us to save you from the gallows…"

"I have never wished to speak ill of the lady, but the Duchess of Perthshire and myself do not often get on."

"Who would?" I muttered.

David smiled, "Ah, you have met her, and I see from your face, Dr Watson, that you do not like her."

"May I ask the reason for your dislike?" asked Holmes.

"Well, you have met her Mr Holmes. But I suppose I have a further reason for disliking her. You have, I suppose deduced that my brother is deeply in love with the lady?"

"That did not escape my notice."

"My brother, as I am sure you have both realised, is the kindest gentleman who ever lived. The way that she treats him, spurns him, angers me - for she will never find a better man than my brother!" The man finished vehemently.

There was a sudden knock at the door, and Roth came in, a young man behind him. "Another visitor, Dr Darcy."

"Thank you, Roth," said David, and rose to greet the young man with a handshake. Roth left, and David introduced the young fellow as Mr John Betterman, David's assistant and good friend. Betterman was of the age of around five or six and twenty, I would conjecture. He was tall and lanky, with ginger hair and thoroughly melancholic demeanour. He nodded to us in greeting, and turned to David.

"I am sorry, Darcy. I did not realise you had visitors. And I believe it is getting late - past visiting time. I just came to bring you some clothing."

"Thank you, Betterman."

Betterman handed over a bag and made his departure. "I am sorry, gentlemen," said David, smiling. "I am afraid my assistant is not a very…sociable person. He gets rather shy in company."

"That is quite alright, Dr Darcy."

"I do believe that it is time for us to be departing, Watson. It is getting quite late, and as Mr Betterman said, we are here somewhat after visiting time."

He almost bundled me out of the door, and said over his shoulder, "I have no doubt that the next time we see you, you will not be in custody."

"Really? Oh, thank you, Mr Holmes."

"Your brother sends his regards." And with that, I was almost pushed down the corridor by Holmes as Roth locked David's door behind us.

"Dear heaven, Holmes," I said, as he almost ran through the corridors of the house. "What is it that has got you so excited?"

"I wish to talk to Mr Betterman. Come, Watson, we must catch him!"

We run out of the house and into the street. I sighted the man first and grabbed Holmes' arm. He led the way, myself close on his heels. We caught up with the young man, and Holmes placed a hand on his shoulder. Betterman jumped in surprise, and looked back at us in some confusion. The confusion cleared when he saw that it was us, and he smiled wanly. "Mr Holmes, Dr Watson…"

"Mr Betterman," said Holmes, "We were wondering if we might have an audience with you? As I remember, there is a restaurant not some five minutes from here, and neither I or Watson, or indeed yourself I do fancy, have had dinner yet. Will you join us? I wish to use your medical knowledge about the red leech. You do know of it?"

The man looked sharply at Holmes, who looked back with studied indifference. "What? How…?"

"Ah!" I cried, a memory resurfacing, "You wrote a treatise on the use of leeches in medical practice, did you not?"

"I had thought that quite extinct…very well, Mr Holmes. If I may be of some use to my dear friend, then I am at your service."

"Good, good." Holmes said, and led us off down the road. As a expert in the subject of London, he new exactly where he was going, despite the fact that I was sure I had never ventured to this particular area of the Capital. We arrived at a small Italian restaurant, procured a table, ordered wine and food, and then Holmes turned to Betterman. "Well, Mr Betterman," he said, hands clasped. "We are all attention. Tell us of the red leech."


	9. Betterman

**Chapter 7**

Betterman looked a little nervous to be sitting between us, his eyes scanning us both as if he believed us likely to pounce upon him, and he looked as if he were trying to fathom a way to escape the situation in which he found himself. We sat in silence, Holmes still studying the young man closely, and without trying to conceal it, until the waiter arrived, bearing a bottle of very fine wine and three glasses. He poured, and Betterman almost snatched the glass out of the waiter's grasp, taking a long, fortifying drink from it, and then looking marginally less terrified. "Mr Betterman," my friend said, his manner still quiet, "We do not have all day, sir. Now, the red leech…"

Betterman's glass had been re-filled. He gulped it all back again, and then nodded, shakily. "The red leech…" he muttered.

"Mr Betterman," I could tell Holmes was getting impatient. I squeezed his forearm slightly, and Holmes continued, a little less tense, "I can see that you are a keen gardener, have recently been in the Belgravia area of London, a freemason and have, shall we say, a decided propensity toward drink."

Betterman looked my friend in the eye, shocked. "It's witchcraft…!"

"No witchcraft," said Holmes. "It is not a difficult thing to surmise that a man with such a degree of grass-stains on his shirt cuffs has more than a passing interest in gardening, nor that a man who would drink two full glasses of wine before his meal has a problem regarding alcohol. Your shoes, Mr Betterman, are covered with soil only found in that area of London which is called Belgravia…"

"And your being a freemason is shown by the symbol on your watch chain," I finished. Holmes nodded, cast a glance at me, and then waved his hand at Betterman, as if waiting for an assent.

"I see now that all reports of your intelligence are not exaggerated, Mr Holmes." Betterman viewed us both, and then said, "I will tell you as much as I can of the red leech. But, Mr Holmes, I beg of you, my knowledge of the matter would bring suspicion upon me. I am not guilty!"

"That we shall discuss later…"

"Mr Holmes, I am a man of integrity. I promise you that I am all patriotism. I should never have conceived to injure her Majesty."

"Mr Betterman," I said, "We are not here to establish your guilt or innocence. We only wish to consult your expertise as to this red leech, and prevent more attempts on the life of Her Majesty."

Betterman nodded. Holmes pulled out a cigarette case, offered one to Betterman, who refused, and then lit his cigarette. "Now, Mr Betterman. The leeches."

Betterman sighed. "You know, I realise, that during my time at university, I became interested in the medical uses of leeches for the healing of problems with blood flow and circulatory problems. I do not for one moment, gentlemen, believe that leeches and the practice of bleeding is in anyway useful for the healing of a man or woman, but I do believe that there is something in a leech which may provide some beneficial medicinal purpose."

Holmes nodded, and I spoke, "You worked with red leeches?"

"Red leeches are an anomaly. A creature which should not exist. They are made…bred, I suppose, in a horribly cruel way, and only one in a hundred people could have the knowledge and intelligence to breed a red leech."

"Including yourself?"

"I admit that I bred some when I was at university. I was found out. The breeding of red leeches, although not illegal was frowned upon by my department, and to avoid a scandal, and the release of details pertaining to red leeches, my stock were either destroyed or released into a place where they would hopefully die."

"Where?" asked Holmes.

"The mires and swamps of Dartmoor. I have no reason to believe that the red leeches could survive in such an environment."

"And what do they look like?" I asked.

"That is the most terrible thing, Dr Watson. These creatures contain one of the most powerful and potent poisons known to man. It can cause seizures, fevers and can bring on pneumonia, cancers and consumption, by weakening the immune system. If not removed quickly, the leech can cause death. The leech is called a 'red leech' due to it's colour when it has fed - full of the red blood of it's prey. But, before it has fed, the leech is transparent. Nigh on invisible."

"Dear heavens," I muttered.

Holmes too, looked shocked, and then said, "You have shared your knowledge of the creature?"

Betterman sighed, and then nodded. "I have, Mr Holmes."

"With how many people?"

"A couple of my colleagues at university, my employer Dr Darcy, my brother who is a Doctor in India…"

"Any others?"

Betterman looked from one to the other of us. "My fiancée and her family."

"And who is your fiancée, Mr Betterman?" I asked.

"Our engagement is a secret, gentlemen. I have visited her house and met her family, but they are in no way aware of the understanding between the young lady and myself. You see, I am a poor man, and the lady is of noble blood…"

"Who is the lady?" I asked, a little more forcefully this time. I was getting annoyed at the man's prevaricating.

"Lady Esther Grey."

"The Duchess of Perthshire's younger sister," stated Holmes.

"That is correct, Mr Holmes."

"And you discussed such matters with your fiancée and her sisters?"

"My fiancée is a clever woman, with an interest in science, as has her elder sister. The Duchess questioned me on my research. I saw no harm in enlightening the lady on the phenomenon of the red leech."

Holmes nodded, "You have told no one else?"

"No one at all, Mr Holmes."

"And when was the last time you bred a red leech?"

"In university, Mr Holmes."

Something in the man's voice told us that he was lying. "Mr Betterman," I started.

The young man sighed. "Oh, very well. I have bred a red leech since then. My fiancée wished to view one, and I could not deny her. But I assure you, I destroyed it as soon as we were finished with it."

Holmes stood suddenly, his face darkened with rage. I looked up at him in surprise. "Holmes?"

"Mr Betterman, your indiscretion may have led to the attempt on Her Majesty's life. I would suggest in future that if you come into the possession of any more potentially dangerous information, you keep it to yourself, no matter how much your future wife may flatter you. Come, Watson…" Holmes strode out, leaving his meal uneaten. I looked at mine sadly, and rose to leave as well, leaving Betterman staring after us. I retrieved my possessions from an attendant, and found Holmes outside, smoking his pipe.

"That was a little harsh, Holmes."

"I am very sorry for interrupting your dinner, Watson, but I could not stand to be around that silly young man a moment longer." He hailed a cab, and we got in.

As the cab drove off, back to Baker Street, I mused, "You know, you have probably bankrupted Mr Betterman. We have left him to pay for a horribly expensive bottle of wine, and three uneaten meals."

"Thank goodness I did not order dessert," Holmes said, wickedly, and I grinned.

"What a terrible thing these leeches sound."

"Indeed. Transparent until full of the victims blood…their fangs containing the most awful poison…"

"And the Duchess has had the method of breeding one described to her."

"Indeed, Watson."

"But could she do it, do you think, Holmes?"

"I think that the lady could, if she wished. There is no doubt that she is intelligent."

"You know, Holmes, the more deeply we are immersed in this case, the more Lady Grey becomes a central character in this horrible deed."

"You are convinced of her guilt?"

"You are not?"

"I am unsure, Watson. But we will visit Lady Grey in the morning…and hopefully Lady Esther will also be present. But first, back to Baker Street, I think. Before I lose you to malnutrition!"


	10. Discussions

**To clear up a bit of confusion - Jack Darcy's title is the Earl of Rossinghythe, but the House and village that he is Lord of is Rossington (This happens quite a bit in the English aristocracy!)**

**Chapter 8**

We arrived back to Baker Street a little after nine o'clock, to find dinner awaiting us upstairs and our temporary house-keeper and her son gone for the night. To my disappointment, it was a cold supper, and was not really enough to sustain me, but I ate my share, and tried not to think about the meal I had left to spoil at the restaurant. Holmes, meanwhile gulped down his half of the meal, poured himself, and offered me, a glass of brandy, then took his place by the fire, whilst I retrieved a journal from my desk, and proceeded to write up my notes from today. I was startled from my work by Holmes, who said, "My dear Watson, if you are as hungry as all that, I am sure that there is something in the kitchen…"

I looked up at him, then sighed, laid down my pen, and said, "Alright, Holmes. Out with it. How did you know?"

"My dear fellow, when I observe a man I know as well as you and has never demonstrated the habit before, chewing upon the end of his pencil, it is not difficult to surmise that he is hungry."

"Oh, very good, Holmes," I said, dryly. "I am glad I can cause you some amusement."

"Always, old man," grinned Holmes. " Now, are you too hungry to act as my sounding-board, or do you think you could last ten minutes before the need for sustenance becomes desperate?"

I scowled at him, but felt the corners of my mouth twitch. "Alright. Go on."

Holmes smiled, then arched his fingers in front of his face. "The question to consider is who has a motive for killing Her Majesty. Apart from the obvious people, of course."

"Obvious?"

"Agents of various powers who wish us ill…those in Her Majesty's immediate family who have some claim on the throne…but I would suggest that their positions, as well as their absence from the palace would remove them from our enquiries. Now, there is the motive of money, of course, and of a gain in power after the Queen's death. There is, of course, the possibility that the attempt could have been carried out by someone with a long-running grudge against Her Majesty…"

"Or by a madman…"

"A madman would hardly be able to come into a position where they have the access to Her Majesty which is close enough to introduce a red leech. And this crime bears the marks of a person who is intelligent and resourceful - an altogether more worrying prospect."

"Holmes?"

"Hmm…?"

"May I ask why you didn't enquire as to what people will receive what on the Queen's death? Why didn't you ask Mycroft? Or Her Majesty? Or Lord Darcy?"

"I wanted to see who would bring it to my attention."

"Who was considering it, you mean?"

"Yes, and who knew of the will. Everybody, it seems. And the inheritances were brought to our attention by two men who will receive nothing."

"Jealousy, do you think?"

"Perhaps. Or perhaps an attempt to focus our enquiries on a particular person. Or perhaps, an innocent comment, nothing more than court gossip."

"I wonder…"

"Watson…?"

"I wonder whether Betterman would inherit money from the Queen?"

"Probably. He is, after all Dr Darcy's assistant, and a pharmacist. He has probably aided her Majesty on occasion, and mixed medicines for her."

"Betterman is a poor man, and he wishes to marry a rich woman. Could not his inheritance from Her Majesty aid him in this?"

"A good point, Watson. But, we could also suggest that many people have the same motive, for money…we could also suggest that as the equerries are the only people liable to stay in the Royal household after Her Majesty's death, Lord Darcy has a very good motive, if he would gain extra power."

"I cannot believe that," I shook my head vehemently. "You said yourself, that Lord Darcy is a good man."

Holmes nodded, but said, "Whether he is a good man or not, we must consider as to whether Lord Darcy has a motive, which he does. But do not worry, Watson. He also has an unshakable alibi, and a number of servants to say that he was at Rossington most of the day, and that he did not visit the Royal Palace at all yesterday."

"Unlike the Duchess of Perthshire."

"Ah. Yes, she does have both the motive and the opportunity to have committed the crime, and that is something we shall have to discuss with her tomorrow." He looked over at me, "Retrieve the 'Who's Who' for this year from the bookcase, will you, Watson?"

I nodded, got up, and found the book, and asked, "What do you want to know?"

"Read me Lord Darcy's account, will you? And our friend the Duchess'?"

I smiled, and came to sit back on my chair next to the fire. "You know, Holmes, one of these days, I shall insist you read things aloud on your own."

"My dear Watson, I could never do it as well as you do. Such expression! It is quite your forte, old fellow."

I laughed, and said "Thank you, Holmes. Now, where are we…ah, here we are…'Darcy, Captain the Lord Jonathan Frederick (Jack), Earl of Rossinghythe, since 1889, born 12th March 1861 descended of Lord Hugh Jonathan Darcy and Lady Margaret Elizabeth Darcy (nee Stanley), Educated at Cambridge University, served in South African Campaigns and in India. Unmarried, Brother of Dr David Darcy, one further brother, one further sister. Equerry to Her Majesty the Queen, various charity commitments, primary residence Rossington Hall, Cornwall'. Surely we know all this, Holmes…"

"It is always interesting to see what the official accounts say. Now, the Duchess…"

I sighed, "Oh, very well. 'Grey, Lady Magdalena Cecelia, Duchess of Perthshire, since 1891, born 4th December 1872 descended of Lord Harold Albert Grey and Lady Honoria Rose Grey (nee Gregory). Unmarried, five younger sisters, Lady-in-Waiting to the Queen, primary residences Durrington Hall, London and Foxleigh Castle, Dorset.' What did you expect to find, Holmes?"

"Glance at the account of the Duchess' father, will you, Watson?"

I did so. "It is more of the same, Holmes. Was there anything in particular?"

"His Grace's education, Watson."

"Very well…" I scanned the page "University of Oxford, Chemistry and Biology…"

"Exactly, Watson. The Duchess' father was a chemist, and a very notable one. There is more than a slight possibility that his talent in that field may have passed to his daughter."

"You mean that she would have the knowledge to breed a red leech?"

"That is a possibility, yes."

"But that is wonderful, Holmes! We know then that we are on the right track. I just feel sorry for Lord Darcy…"

"My dear Watson, first into the breach yet again! We have no evidence that Lady Grey committed the crime, nor have we questioned her well enough to know whether she has the character to commit a murder. A feeling, nor conjecture is not enough to catch a murderer."

"What do you suggest then?"

"I suggest, old fellow, that you find yourself something to eat, and then make your way up to bed. Your stomach is growling like an enraged bear." I felt my face grow red, and Holmes smiled at me fondly, before saying, "And tomorrow, we shall go onto this Durrington Hall to pay our respects to the Lady and her sister. Goodnight, Watson."

"Goodnight, Holmes." I left the room, making my way downstairs and finding myself the ingredients to make a fairly passable sandwich. After eating, I made my way up to my room, and readied myself for bed, read a while, and listened to the sound of Holmes playing something rather soothing on his violin. I fell into sleep before the clock struck midnight.

I was awakened by something early in the morning, at about five. I roused myself, and saw up, to find Holmes standing over me, candle in hand. "I am afraid we shall have to go, Watson."

"Go?" I rubbed my eyes, "but it is five o'clock…whatever has happened?"

"I have had a telegram from my brother. Mr Betterman has been found dead this morning. On his body were found seven red leeches…"


	11. A Gruesome Murder

**Chapter 9**

Within ten minutes, both Holmes and I were hurrying down the stairs, towards the front door. I vaguely registered the fact that Holmes had obviously been awake to intercept the telegram…he was not sleeping again. The same always occurred when the detective had a case - but what worried me was that as far as I was aware, Holmes had not had a full nights sleep in some time. I sighed, but stayed silent. Now was definitely not the right time to speak. We hailed a cab, and got in. Holmes' hands rested in his lap, but they were not still - nervously twitching and fiddling with his watch chain or jacket buttons. His excitement was clear to see.

It was some time before Holmes spoke. "I cannot help thinking, Watson, that I sent that young man to his death…"

"Nonsense, Holmes! It was the man's own folly which brought him to such an end."

Holmes glanced at me, and then looked to his front, nodding almost imperceptibly.

We continued on through the streets, which were beginning to grow slightly lighter in the cold light of dawn. It was freezing, and I felt my leg throb slightly, as it usually did on such a day. I rested my hand on my leg wound, massaging the sore spot a little, and noticed Holmes' eyes alight on my actions for a moment, before flickering very quickly to my face. I shot a small smile at him, and he smiled doubtfully back, shot another worried glance at my leg, and seemed to decide to say nothing. I knew, however, that he would be keeping a close watch on me for the rest of the day.

We reached 23 Carlton Street around twenty minutes or half an hour after we left Baker Street. Carlton Street was neither smart nor scruffy - an amalgamation of both is the best description. A long street, flanked on both sides with brown-brick terraced houses and black iron fences. A couple of sorry-looking trees, a few bicycles and a large crowd of people lurking outside a particular house - number 23.

Holmes and I pushed through the crowd, showed our cards to a man in a black suit, and passed an older lady, and a younger maid, both in tears on the stairs. Mr Betterman had obviously had the same sort of arrangement with his landlady as we had - her on the ground floor, and he on the floors above. The house was not large, but it was well-decorated, with several portraits on the walls, and small landscapes of, among others, the Lake District, The Gower Peninsula in Wales and Land's End in Cornwall. We continued up the stairs, and went through a large door. On the other side was standing Mr Lazenby, in tweed suit and a grey hat, a notebook and pen in his hand. He greeted us with a nod, "Ah, Mr Holmes, Dr Watson. Mr Mycroft Holmes told me you would be coming. I am sure that I do not need to tell you, Mr Holmes, that this is a matter of national security. As such, Scotland Yard have been informed that, though it may seem harsh, British Government Intelligence are to deal with this…"

"And the people outside?" I asked.

"They will be told that Mr Betterman died in an accident - the details will be sorted later. Betterman's landlady and maid are to be sworn to secrecy. In fact, I am just off to speak to them now. The crime scene is yours, gentlemen. I would worn you, however, that the circumstances have meant that the scene is rather…gruesome…"

Holmes nodded, and I followed him into the next room. It was a large enough room, obviously a bedroom, with a double bed, wardrobe and washstand, together with an ornately carved bookshelf, resplendent with a large number of books, and a small table with a chemistry set on it. The set was similar to Holmes, and I saw him look interestedly at it, before we turned to the body.

And what a sight it was. Mr Betterman was laid across the bed, a look of absolute horror plastered across his visage. He had obviously been in some distress when he died - his shirt had been ripped open, and his chest bore the marks of a man clawing at his torso, with long fingernails. There were seven leeches on the man's body, and I believe that they had been sucking at his blood for longer than he had realised. They were utterly and monstrously full, engorged by their gluttony. Three of the leeches were on the chest, another three on the stomach. The last - the one which must have caused Betterman's death - was over his jugular. But was it the poison of the leech which caused the death, or the blood loss?

Holmes was staring at the man's face quietly. A moment later, he reached over, and closed the man's eyelids. Then he sighed, and said, in a voice almost akin to his usual, dispassionate tone, "I think, Watson, we may draw a number of conclusions from this manner of death. Firstly, the leeches do not suck the blood from their victim as soon as they latch onto him…"

"How…?"

"The man was obviously asleep, as he is wearing his bed clothes, and I do not think it likely that he would have slept if he were aware of red leeches upon his flesh."

"You mean that a man can harbour a red leech, perhaps for hours, and not know of it?"

"Exactly, Watson. I suggest that the leeches wait until they are aware of their victim going to sleep - a decreased heart-rate, etcetera, and then start their feasting. Secondly, we may deduce that the poison is not a fast-acting one…"

"Due to the fact that the leeches obviously had time to drink their fill before Betterman was deceased…"

Holmes nodded. "Watson, can you tell me how long Betterman has been dead?"

I walked over to the body, and examined it closely. "I would say no longer than three or four hours. It is difficult to say with the amount of ex-sanguination, but from the stiffening of the joints, that time period is what I would conjecture."

"Good." Holmes began to walk around the room, examining the floor, the windows and the door. "The leech was placed on the body before he entered this room - possibly even the house. This window would have had to have been forced for anyone to enter, which it is not, and the door was locked from the inside - you can see that the door was broken down to enter, and I doubt very much that the rather stolid looking landlady downstairs would condone an illegal entry to the room, especially when it has done so much damage to the portal. Watson, would you mind searching the desk?"

I nodded, and got to it, sheaving through various papers, whilst Holmes examined the chemistry set and various items by the side of Betterman's bed. The desk was untidy and the filing unsystematic, and it took me a while to skim and remove any papers not pertinent to the present situation - most of them, it seemed. When I had removed all the papers, I found a small key affixed to a nail at the back of the bureau. I studied the end of the key for a moment, before I realised that the shape of the key matched precisely the shape of a small, innocent-looking hole in the woodwork of the desk. I pushed the key in, turned it, and a small drawer emerged.

Inside, there was very little - a jet-black tie pin, an ivory plated cigarette case and a brown journal. I called Holmes over, and he examined the items, opening the cigarette case to display an inscription:

_To my dearest John,_

_On your birthday_

_From your loving E.G._

"Esther Grey?" I ventured.

Holmes nodded. "I do believe so, Watson. And this," he held up the journal, "is, I believe, Mr Betterman's appointment book."

He flicked through it. The contents were more or less innocuous - _Meet D.D. at Harley Street - 2pm_ or _Walk with E at 4pm_ or things of the sort. Holmes came to the page corresponding with yesterday, and then passed it to me to read, "Research at British Museum - 10am, Visit D.D. 5pm…" I paused, before reading the last, "Visit M.G. Durrington Hall - 9pm."

"I believe," said Holmes, "that we may conjecture that 'M.G.' is Lady Magdalena Grey."

"Then she was the last person to see Mr Betterman alive."

"Indeed."

We both looked up as Mr Lazenby entered the room. "I take it that you have all the information that you need?"

"Yes," said Holmes, "But I must beg of you a couple of favours, Mr Lazenby. First, that you allow me to keep this book for the time being…"

"Of course."

"And second that you do not release details of Betterman's death for a couple of hours."

"It can be done, Mr Holmes. I take it that that is important?"

"Very."

"What about Dr Darcy?" I asked.

"He will be released. He can have had nothing to do with this death…in fact, I shall send word that he is to be released this very minute…"

"And we shall take the note." Holmes interjected, surprising me in his keenness. Lazenby studied him, and then nodded. He drew out a piece of paper, wrote a few lines upon it, signed it, then counter-signed it.

"This will allow the doctor to be released."

"Thank you, Mr Lazenby."

"I am afraid, gentlemen, that I can be of no further assistance to you after this. The international situation recalls me to Europe, but this was thought important enough to delay my departure. I wish you both good luck. I am sure that you will succeed."

"Thank you, Mr Lazenby," said Holmes, and he fairly ran out of the room. I inclined my head respectfully to the man, then followed Holmes, who ran to commandeer a cab.

"Holmes?" I said, once we had both taken a seat, "What are you doing, dare I ask?"

"We are going to ensure that Dr Darcy is safely released…and, dare I say it, that we are the first people that he talks to upon his release."

"But why?"

"Because I believe that Dr Darcy may be able to tell us more of Mr Betterman, Lady Esther and Lady Grey."

"But why not go and see Lady Grey now? If Betterman did go and see her last night, the evidence is fairly strong against her…"

"She can wait. She will not be going anywhere."

"And Dr Darcy will?"

"No, I do not think that. But I do think that if he tells all he knows of the Greys to his brother, Lord Darcy may out of loyalty or love tell Lady Grey something which could ruin this investigation."

"I do not think he would jeopardise Her Majesty's life - or that of innocent people."

"They say love is blind, Watson."

"Hmm…but only to a point. When the woman you love is a traitor and a murderer, love departs, I would imagine, rather quickly."

Holmes smiled fondly at me, and started to leaf further though John Betterman's diary.


	12. Released

**Chapter 10**

Holmes let out a cry of surprise as a folded piece of paper fell from the pages of the diary. It fell to the floor of the cab, and I bent to pick it up, handing it back to my friend. The paper was, it seemed, a letter. The paper was white, and held shut with a monogrammed seal, which was so smudged it was illegible. The letter had been opened, it seemed, many times, for the page was folded and there was a black thumb mark on the corner.

The writing was that of a lady - neat and somewhat immature, and was written in black ink. The letter was addressed to Mr J. Betterman, 23 Carlton Street, London, and Holmes pointed out the London postmark. As was the man's wont, he passed the letter to me to read. Although I baulked at reading the personal letters of the gentleman, there was no doubt that this could be important. Taking a deep breath, I began:

"_My dearest darling John,_

_How long it has been since we last set eyes upon each other! I know that you, rationalist to the core, will say that it is but days - hours! - but every second away from you seems like a year. I long for the day when I can be with you every second of the day. I long for the day when I can be Mrs Betterman. I know that my mother and father would have loved you, despite your circumstances, and I believe that my sister is not completely opposed to the match - she just needs to be won around. Your clever trick with the red leech last night impressed her, I believe, for she has been quiet and thoughtful all day. I know that you do not like her - that you are so loyal an employee to Dr Darcy - but she does not, I believe, know how greatly we feel for one another._

_I do, my darling, hope that we can meet soon,_

_I love you,_

_Your loving Esther"_

I looked over at Holmes, and had to hide a smirk as he made an expression of disgust, "Dear heaven, Watson! How positively nauseating!"

I smiled, and said lightly, "Well, well, Holmes. One would think you almost jealous."

Holmes shot me a look which could have maimed at five paces, and I chuckled softly. I looked down at the letter, and a sudden thought came to me, which made me completely sober. It seemed to strike Holmes at the same moment, for he sighed sadly, "We shall have to tell Lady Esther of her beloved's decease."

"It seems so pointless! What did the murderers hope to gain by killing Betterman? He was not a threat…"

Holmes glanced at me, "Betterman told us some very revealing things, Watson."

"About the Duchess?"

"Among others."

"Do you really think she would kill the man her sister loved?"

Holmes shook his head, and said quietly, "I think she would, if she thought it for the best…but I do not know whether she actually did it."

We travelled in silence for the rest of the way. I do not know what Holmes was thinking about, but for myself, I was pondering the villainy and utter evil of the Grey woman. I could not believe that such an example of the fair sex could live in this world. When I thought of the gentleness and kindness of my own darling Mary… I shook my head, and pulled myself out of my reverie. Now was not the time.

The prison-house was still in darkness when we arrived, and it took several pulls of the bell for us to gain entry. We were welcomed, no less effusively, by the jailor, who nigh on embraced Holmes, before my friend extracted himself from his arms, and pushed the letter into his hand. Roth seemed inordinately pleased to be able to let one of his prisoners go, and we waited downstairs whilst he went to rouse and fetch Dr Darcy.

Two minutes, at the most, later, and Dr David Darcy came flying down the stairs, and wrung both of our hands in his, making his thanks known to us in no uncertain terms. "Oh, my dear friends, I am forever in your debt! What did you do to get me out?"

Holmes, for the second time that morning, was forced to extract himself from someone relatively unknown invading his personal space, and said, "Perhaps it is best we should talk outside?"

"Ah, yes, the fresh air!" We left the house (I noticed that Holmes hurried rather gingerly past Roth), and went out into the front garden, where we stood whilst Dr Darcy took deep breaths of fresh air. When he had finished, he asked, "So, how did you manage to get me out, gentlemen? For I had almost given up hope…"

"I am afraid we have some rather bad news, doctor," said Holmes. "There has been a murder."

"Not Her Majesty, else I would have heard. Oh, heavens, it's not Jack, is it?" Panic lit in Dr Darcy's eyes, and his breathing quickened.

I hastened to correct him - the poor man was near to hyperventilating. "Calm yourself, Dr Darcy. Your brother is quite well. I am afraid that it was your assistant who was murdered last night."

Dr Darcy stared at me for a moment, before nodding numbly. He seemed a little calmer, and his breathing returned to normal. "Betterman?"

"Indeed," said Holmes.

"I suppose he knew too much. Whoever it was… I shall have to contact his family. His mother is a very distant cousin of ours and I have taken care of her in the past…she will be distraught."

"What of his other family?" I asked, quietly.

"He has a brother - Henry, who is a doctor in India, and another called George, who is in the army. His sister is married to an accountant in Deptford. His father died three years ago in a railway accident in Wales. It was a terrible tragedy. John was a very promising student, as you have probably heard from him himself - and the family were left destitute on the father's death."

"Then how did Betterman continue his studies?" asked Holmes.

Dr Darcy reddened slightly. "John was a promising student, and I needed an assistant. I paid for his final year of study." He studied us, then said, "You must not think me some habitual do-gooder - I paid for John's tuition because he was brilliant, and I needed a brilliant assistant. But I like to think I was his friend as well."

"Then, I take it, you knew about his engagement?" I asked.

Dr Darcy smiled, then sighed sadly, "He came to me for the money for an engagement ring, and I gave it. Esther's sister would never have allowed the marriage, but John cared so deeply for Esther that I did not think that mattered."

"You do not think she would have come round? Lady Grey, I mean?"

"All that Lady Grey cares about is marrying her sisters off to the richest men in the country, no matter what they want. She would never have allowed the marriage - and I know of at least two times that John broached the subject with her and was warned off. She more or less threatened him with her dogs the last time he asked, a couple of months ago. But Esther has spirit. She would not allow her sister to keep John out of the house entirely." He looked up at us, "You are to go and tell them? Esther and Lady Grey, I mean?"

"We are," said Holmes. "But we wished to talk to you first. What do you know of the red leech?"

"Only what John told me himself. I know that he told Esther and her sister about it too. Against my advice, I must confess."

"What danger could there be?"

Dr Darcy shook his head. "I don't know. But something…intuition, maybe…told me that telling Lady Grey about the red leech was a mistake. And perhaps I was right…although my brother would chastise me for saying so. In his eyes, she is misunderstood and unhappy. Perhaps he is right. But I do not think so…"

"Well," said Holmes. "Thank you for talking to us again, Dr Darcy. You have our sympathies for the death of your friend."

"Thank you, gentlemen."

"Where will you go know?" I asked.

"I think I will surprise my brother at his house. I owe him a great debt of gratitude for all he has done. Goodbye, gentlemen."

Holmes nodded, and I shook Dr Darcy's hand, "Goodbye, Dr Darcy."

"Good luck at the ice palace." He grinned, and walked away.


	13. A visit to the Duchess

**Chapter 11**

It was with great foreboding that I accompanied Holmes to the Duchess of Perthshire's London residence, Durrington Hall. A tall, imposing building, in the centre of Belgravia, it was set back from the road further than the other houses and had gate-house, which we drove through to arrive in a courtyard at the front of the main house. White-brick, with ornate scrolling stonework, and white columns framing the front door, the house was large, and included a stable and an out-building to house Her Grace's carriage.

We were met at the front door by an older man of about fifty, with copious white hair and a ruddy complexion and small, pencil moustache. He wore a smart black suit, and was obviously the butler. "Gentlemen?"

Holmes and I handed over calling cards, and my friend said "We are here to see Her Grace, and Lady Esther if she is at home. It is a matter of some urgency."

The butler nodded, and waved us inside, where we were relieved of our hats, gloves and canes by a pretty young maid of about sixteen. We were then shown into what I perceived to be the Drawing Room - a large room, dominated by large-proportioned mahogany furniture, and large bookcases full of books - covering all subjects from anatomy and biology to Miss Austen's fictions. We were instructed to wait, on the understanding that the ladies of the house would be informed of our arrival and would be down shortly.

Holmes had gone over to study the bookshelves, and beckoned to me. "Watson?"

I walked over, and Holmes handed me a book. I examined the spine. "The Biology of the Leech" I read.

"An interesting book to find in Her Grace's collection."

We heard footsteps, and Holmes hastily replaced the book. The door was opened, however, not by Her Grace, but by a younger girl of about nineteen. Lady Esther, I deduced, from her manner and bearing, as well as her similarity in looks to the Duchess. She was beautiful, there was no denying it, perhaps not on a par with her elder sister, but enough to make her popular with young men. She was far shorter than her elder sister, and had golden blonde hair the colour of a cornfield, instead of dark auburn. She had a pleasing figure and countenance, and unlike her sister again, she was warm and honest, with a wide, genuine smile, and a twinkle in her eye.

"Good morning," she said, politely, "My name is Lady Esther Grey. Are you looking for my sister?"

Holmes inclined his head slightly at the young lady, as I shook her hand. "Lady Esther," he said, "We are looking for your sister, but we also have something to speak to you of."

"What is it?" asked the girl, curiously. "Or would you prefer to wait for my sister?"

"I think it might be best, My Lady," I said, quietly.

"You live here alone with your sister, Lady Esther?" my friend asked.

"Other than during the summer and at Christmas. At Christmas, my younger sisters, who are all at school join us, and during the summer, we go to one of the houses in the country."

"Ah, I see," I said, trying to keep the conversation fairly innocuous. From what we had heard, Lady Magdalena had no great love for her sister, but it would not do for two strange men to tell her alone that her fiancé was dead. "You have four younger sisters?"

"Yes. Victoria is eighteen, Cassandra is sixteen, Honoria is fourteen and our younger sister Amelia is but thirteen years old. Mr Holmes?" Her face turned to my friend.

He had been studying one of the paintings on the wall - a Gainsborough, I thought - and looked back at the girl, "Yes?"

"Is this something to do with what happened at the Palace?"

"Your sister told you?"

"Yes."

We were interrupted by the arrival of said sister, who swept into the room wearing a beautiful burgundy dress, with hair ornately decorated on her head, and a string of very fine black pearls adorning her neck. She looked beautiful and magnificent and haughty. "Ah," she said, "Mr Holmes, Dr Watson. Your search has led you here then. Forgive me if I do not offer you a seat, but I doubt that you will be here very long."

I must have visibly bridled at such a comment, as the Duchess rose one eyebrow, and Holmes placed a surreptitious hand on my shoulder. "I am afraid we have come here on a rather unfortunate mission, Lady Grey. There has been another attack. And this time it was successful."

Was it my imagination, or did the lady's eyes gleam very slightly? "Her Majesty?" she asked, her voice a modicum quieter.

"No, my lady, I am afraid the victim was Mr John Betterman."

The two ladies reactions to this news were completely different. The Duchess stood still, her eyes boring into us, and did not seem even a little perturbed or concerned by this news. Instead, she looked out of the window, seemingly unaffected. Her sister, on the contrary, gasped, and then started to cry. She fell back into a chair, her head in her hands. "Oh no," she said quietly, "Oh, heavens."

The Duchess turned back to look at her sister, then moved over to a sideboard, and poured a small measure of brandy into a glass, before handing it to her sister. As she gave it to the girl, she said, "Pull yourself together, child. Is this any way to act?"

I believe that even Holmes was taken aback by the Duchess' manner and her words to her sister. The girl was obviously completely and utterly broken hearted, but her sister did not touch her, did not comfort her, instead turning away to say to us sarcastically, "It seems your work here is done, gentlemen. Now if you would leave…"

"Not yet, Your Grace." Holmes spoke u, his voice hard. "There are some questions I wish to ask you."

"You are aware that I could have you thrown from this house…?"

"Yes. But you are aware that I could come back here with Officers from Her Majesty's intelligence and have you compelled to answer my questions?"

I smirked, but the Duchess studied my friend for a moment, before smiling mockingly and saying, "Touché, Mr Holmes. What are your questions? I will answer them, and then you will leave."

"I know, Lady Grey that Mr Betterman came to see you last night, making you the last person, that we know of, to see him alive. What was your meeting about?"

"That is my business."

Lady Esther had looked up at her sister then, and risen, going to her elder sister's side, and laying a hand on the Duchess' forearm. "Magdalena? He came here?"

The Duchess sighed, "Yes."

"What did John want? Tell me!" The girl's voice was growing frenzied, and

I noticed Lady Grey wince slightly.

"Esther! Calm yourself!"

"Lady Grey, tell us the contents of your meeting."

"Oh, very well. Mr Betterman came to see me about my sister. He re-iterated his claimed feelings for her, and asked me to bless the match. I refused."

"Claimed feelings?" The girl Esther's face was a mask of anger and hatred, all directed at her elder sister, and I for one could not blame her. "He loved me! And I loved him!"

"You are young, and it was a fancy."

"He's dead! Did you do something to him?"

"Oh, don't be an idiot, Esther!"

"Just because you are incapable of love does not mean that we are all cold, heartless individuals! You are a horrid, horrid person. And I hate you!" The last sentence was said at a shout, and the girl ran out, slamming the door behind her with a bang.

Lady Grey shook her head, then turned to us, "I hope you are happy, gentlemen."

"Not at all, Lady Grey," said Holmes. "It seems that this is your doing, not ours."

The Duchess scowled at us, before saying, "My butler, Wilson will show you out. I would appreciate it, Mr Holmes, if the next time you wish to talk to me, you will do it without the presence of my younger sisters. Good day to you."

She turned, walking towards the door, when Holmes called after her, "And the red leech, madam?"

"What of it?"

"The murder weapon. Which Mr Betterman introduced you to."

"Betterman was a fool and in some ways, I believe that he got what he deserved in the end, gentlemen."

She left the room, and we were nigh on shoved out of the door by the butler, who was stronger than he looked.

We sat in the carriage, both of us silent. I with anger, Holmes looking as if he were considering something. We called to the driver, giving him our address and we were driven towards Baker Street.

I broke the silence, and let out a frustrated exclamation. "That horrible, horrible woman!"

Holmes chuckled, then said, "Indeed, old fellow."

"That poor child! She has lost the man she loved and all that woman can do is mock and belittle her."

"Lady Esther is very young…"

"You are condoning the behaviour of Lady Grey then?" I said, disbelievingly.

"Not at all. But she is perhaps acting for what she sees as the best interests for her sisters. They might not tally with anyone else's idea, but…"

"Do you think she did it Holmes? Treason? And now murder?"

"I believe she could do it. And she would do it. But there is the problem of the motive, Watson."

"The money from the Queen…"

"Ah, old man, but the Duchess is in no financial difficulties. I took the opportunity whilst you were chattering to that delightful girl to peruse her bank statements. Not only is she rich, but her wages for the position of Lady in Waiting are much greater, I believe, than any payment made on Her Majesty's death. I believe, Watson, we have been in the presence of one of the richest women in England, if not the world."

"She has a motive for killing Betterman."

"The Duchess is one of the most powerful women in the country. I think it no great trial to her to have Betterman warned off her sister…but that does not mean she would kill him."

"But she could have done it."

"Indeed she could. But if we wish to engineer a case against Her Grace, we will have to find evidence. And a motive. But for now, Watson. I believe our temporary housekeeper should be at our residence, and breakfast will be awaiting you at least."


	14. A New Attack

**Hello! Thank you all for your kind reviews! Please keep reviewing - I really appreciate you doing so. It makes me smile :)**

**Chapter 12**

It was but three hours later, when we had eaten breakfast (or I had, anyway) and were sitting in our armchairs, I taking notes on this remarkable case for my private journal, and Holmes smoking, staring into the fire, that we were roused by the appearance of Mycroft Holmes in the doorway to our lounge. Holmes was obviously shocked, because he almost dropped the pipe, and stared at Mycroft, before saying, "Ah, Brother mine! Watson, we are having a visitation! What on earth could cause the sun to so move out of it's orbit to have the famous Mycroft Holmes pay a visit upon us?"

Mycroft scowled at his younger brother. "Very funny, Sherlock. How are you Doctor? He is not eating again, I take it?"

"No."

"And how did you deduce that, brother?"

"The simple observation that whenever you do not eat, your humour becomes somewhat barbed. But for now, I have no time to bandy words with you. There has been a development, which I believe you may want to know about."

"And what might that be?" asked Holmes, his face alight with ill-concealed curiosity.

"There has been another attack. But this time, not as serious. Lord Peter Ormerod, and Mr Ulrich Denver have been attacked."

"Dear heavens," I said, quietly.

"And in what way has this come to bear on the family of the Duchess of Perthshire?" my friend asked.

I shot a glance at Holmes, but his face was indifferent, as he studied his brother.

"The two gentlemen were found within one hundred yards of the gatehouse of the Duchess' residence. They were discovered in some bushes."

"I see. And their health?"

"Critical, but stable. They should be recovered in a few days. However, they are not able to be questioned at the present moment, on the orders of their doctors."

"Do you know what their symptoms were?"

"High fever, blood loss. Leeches were found by the side of their bodies. One each, so not as serious as Mr Betterman. They had managed to pull the leeches off of their bodies before they resigned to unconsciousness."

"But they will live?"

"Precisely."

"Do you have anything else to tell us, brother?"

"One thing. Lord Ormerod was able to say a few words before being taken away for treatment. He mentioned a flash of dark red material, and a older man."

A thought came to me, and I was about to voice it, but for a look from Holmes. Instead, I stayed silent. Mycroft continued, "He recognised Wilson, the Duchess of Perthshire's butler before he fainted away. The man has been arrested, much to Her Grace's consternation. Will you go and question the butler, brother?"

"I do not think it will be necessary."

Mycroft nodded, "I agree, brother. I do not think that the man knows anything, do you?"

"Not at all. He will be released when the real murderer is found. For know, it may be an opportunity for him to have a break from, I am sure, his rather exacting mistress."

I had to chuckle at this, and Mycroft's eyebrows rose, "You neither of you like the Duchess then?"

"No." I said shortly. Holmes shrugged indifferently.

"That is interesting. I myself have a great deal of respect for the lady."

"Respect!" I cried. "But how…?"

"It is no small thing for a young woman of but three-and-twenty years old to simultaneously run six or seven large estates, as well as act as a Lady-in-Waiting to the Queen. She may be rude and cold, but she is not without perseverance, and cleverness. And she has helped to raise her younger sisters admirably."

"Despite showing no love for them…" I interjected.

"You should perhaps not listen to gossip, doctor. Nor to the exclamations of her rather excitable and hysterical younger sister." He smiled. "Now, I have also come to tell you that Her Majesty wishes an audience with you to inform her as to how your investigations are progressing. Today at Osbourne House. You will need to leave soon."

Holmes leaped up in a display of energy which he had not shown all day, and hurried into his room to change. I too, had arisen from my seat, and bid Mycroft good-day, before going to change into a new set of clothes. Twenty minutes later, we were ready, and were standing in the lounge, whilst the boy summoned a carriage.

My friend sighed. "It seems that all we have been doing during this case is travelling from place to place in cabs."

I smiled, and then said, "What Mycroft said about the dark red material…"

"Yes. The Duchess was wearing a burgundy dress…"

"It is not looking good for her…"

"It is so much not looking good for her that I am half-inclined to believe her innocent."

"But…"

"But the evidence against the lady is mounting. And I do not think that there could be anyone who we have met who would hate her as much as to accuse her of murder and treason. Apart from, perhaps, her sister."

"Lady Esther? You think…?"

"Everyone in this case has told us of Lady Magdalena as the shining star of her family - the most notable of her sisters. Jealousy and hatred combined could prove an explosive mix."

"What if…"

"Watson?"

"What if Lady Esther is trying to get rid of her sister? To have money for herself?"

"She would have to be working with someone. I would note, Watson, that by infecting themselves, Ormerod and Denver may be trying to deflect any suspicion from themselves."

"Then they are cleverer than they look."

Holmes smiled. "Indeed."

We left the house a few minutes later, taking a cab to the station, and then a train to Portsmouth. Sometime later, we were resident aboard a rather unstable boat that would take us the short distance across the water to the Isle of Wight. I cannot say it was a very pleasant voyage, for the sea was somewhat rough, and I have always suffered from sea-sickness, as from a young child. So when we alighted, I was very glad, if a little shaky from exhaustion and having lost the little sustenance I had gained that day over the side of the boat. Holmes, as usual was very amused, and I took the opportunity to kick him soundly on the shin when he referred to my delicate constitution. As it was, we commandeered a dog cart to take us to the other side of the Island - to the beautiful Osbourne House.


	15. Osborne

**I'm so sorry this next update has taken so long! I've been a bit busy, and I have had such bad writer's block!…but everything has got a bit quieter now! Please read and review…**

**Chapter 13**

Osborne House is the most notable of the summer residences of our Great Queen - and it is said to be her favourite. The entire place is beautiful - built in the style of an Italian Palazzo, designed by Prince Albert himself. When the sun shines, as it was doing that day, we could just have easily been in Naples or indeed anywhere in Italy, rather than a little island off the coast of the English mainland. The house is large, though perhaps not as large as Buckingham Palace, with extensive grounds, including, it had been reported in one of the society papers, a private beach and a cottage built for the Royal Children in the style of a little Swiss House.

Our arrival at the house was heralded by a number of armed men coming to meet the cart. When it was established that we were here on the invitation of Her Majesty, our path was no longer barred, and we walked up the long driveway to the gates of the palace. We were met at the door by a butler, and were led through an opulently decorated hall, with marble floors, and tapestry-covered walls. As in Buckingham Palace, I was struck by the beauty and grandeur of the place, whilst Holmes looked relatively unmoved. He smiled fondly at the look of awe on my face, and said quietly "Quite something, is it not, Watson?"

I grinned, and we continued down the wide halls to the presence chambers of her Majesty. As we walked, Holmes began to question the butler, who, for a member of his profession was, I thought, a little indiscrete. "Her Majesty is feeling better?"

"She is, Sir."

"And she is here alone?"

"No, sir. The Princess Beatrice is present, as is her maid."

"And her Ladies in Waiting?"

"They have remained in London."

"For any particular reason?"

"The Prime Minister and the Lord Chamberlain thought it wise, sir."

"Why?" I asked curiously.

The butler seemed to hesitate for a moment, before continuing. "It was considered unwise to allow any but the closest of Her Majesty's relatives and servants access to her, after the occurrences in London."

"And has suspicion been directed towards any particular person?" Holmes asked, his voice low.

Again, there was a hesitation, before, "I know not the way in which the opinion of the equerries and Lord Chamberlain sways, sir, but we servants…"

"Yes?"

"We believe that the Duchess of Perthshire may be in some way connected. A couple of the maids who were around at the time swear to seeing her Grace alone in Her Majesty's room whilst she slept."

"I see."

"And I may say that she strikes me as a singularly unpleasant lady," the butler burst out, emboldened by his earlier effusiveness. "On the evening in question, sirs, we were not allowed even within ten feet of the doors to Her Majesty's chamber after she was taken ill, on that woman's orders."

"Ah. I see." Holmes said, thoughtfully. He glanced at me, and then said, "I think we can find our way from here."

The man nodded and left us. I shook my head, and said, "For once, I can justify Her Grace's actions. With gossip mongers like that surrounding the Queen, she was correct in her actions to allow no servant into Her Majesty's presence. The news and detailed accounts of the ill that befell her would have been in all the newspapers by noon."

"Indeed. Ah, old friend, are you beginning to warm to the lady?"

I smiled at his teasing. "Not at all. The fact that she turned the servants away could be further proof of her guilt. And her being present in the room whilst the Queen was sleeping…"

Holmes nodded gravely. We continued to walk until we came to a large oak door. Beyond it, the voice of the Queen rang out. We knocked twice, and the voice cried out "Enter!"

We entered the room, and before we were even a foot inside, bowed deeply.

"Mr Holmes, Dr Watson." The Queen said, and gestured for us to come closer. She wore, as was customary for our great monarch, still the black of mourning for the husband she had lost so many years earlier. "How do you progress, gentlemen. I wish to know how you have advanced. Especially after the regrettable circumstances of the last day, with one member of my court dead and another two hospitalised. Hammond," she called, "bring these gentlemen drinks."

The maid dipped into a curtsey, as we were waved to a sofa opposite the large chair in which Her Majesty sat. Her daughter stood behind her in a becoming white and pink gown. Hammond, the maid, brought over two cups of tea and a large silver teapot. Hammond was plain, a woman in her late thirties. She wore a look of introspection on her features, and seemed harmless enough, and perhaps a little slow. She seemed devoted to her mistress, however, and stayed close by.

"Madam," spoke up Holmes, "We have identified the creature which has brought illness and death to the court, and have some suspects who I believe may have some hand in the matter…but I was wondering if I might ask you some questions."

"I am at your disposal, Mr Holmes." The Queen settled back comfortably with a cup of tea.

"Your Majesty, I must inform you that our investigations have led us to one person in particular."

"Oh?"

"Her Grace, the Duchess of Perthshire."

The Queen was silent for a moment, before letting out a vehement cry of "Impossible!"

"Your Majesty…"

"Mr Holmes. I have known that girl since she was small. I knew her mother. I knew her Grandmother. She is no more likely to commit murder than the Archbishop of Canterbury."

"But Your Majesty," I interjected, "she was seen in your room whilst you were sleeping on the day you were taken ill."

The Queen sighed, "Dr Watson…do you know how old I am?"

I sat, as if petrified, before saying quietly, "Er…"

"I am six-and-seventy years old, doctor. How many of your patients still have their best eyesight at my age?"

"Not many, Your Majesty…" I said, ruefully.

"I like to be read for before I sleep, and I like to have a variety of voices reading to me. Beatrice cannot be expected to read to me every night, and Hammond's reading skills are not extraordinary. Magdalena has a very pleasing and soothing reading voice, and she read me to sleep on that day. If she was in my chamber, it was out of loyalty to me."

"I see," I said, quietly.

"Your Majesty," Holmes said, saving me from the embarrassed silence that had fallen, "Dr Watson makes a valid point. Her Grace did have opportunity to place the leech upon your person."

"As did many other people."

"And she was the last person to see Mr Betterman alive…"

"Mr Holmes, Dr Watson, you must put these superstitions from your head…"

"I cannot do that, your Majesty," Holmes said quietly. "I must be unbiased."

The Queen sighed again. "You are correct, Mr Holmes. But am I truthful in supposing that you have heard a rather unbalanced case about Magdalena?"

"Perhaps, your Majesty."

"Then I shall enlighten you as to her character. Your brother, I believe, Mr Holmes, likes her very well, is that not true?"

"He has a great deal of respect for her."

"And Lord Darcy, of course, is enamoured of her."

"Indeed."

"Magdalena Grey is both hard-working and devoted. She is not silly or giggly or swayed by flattery or admiring glances. She is, I admit, somewhat cold, but she is not unfeeling. She is very loyal to myself and to her family. She has had a singularly difficult life, and has had to act as both mother and father to her siblings, with whom she does not have a natural affinity." She looked at me, "I see you remain somewhat unconvinced, Doctor. Very well. I shall say no more. But remember my words if you feel a compunction to persecute her in the future." She rose. "I am afraid, gentlemen, that I shall have to leave you. I am sorry that this has been a rather short visit. Perhaps you will come and visit me when this business is over."

We rose too. "We should be delighted, Your Majesty," said Holmes.

The venerable old lady left us, taking Hammond and the Princess with her. We for ourselves, left the beauty of the palace, and secured a carriage back to Ryde, then, much to my dismay had to take a boat to the mainland. It was singularly rough, and I spent much of my time leaning over the rail of the boat. I was much comforted by Holmes' hand upon my back, and he refrained from teasing me, seeing how ill and pale I looked. We arrived in Portsmouth, much to my relief, a short time later, and after a restorative meal and drink in a local tavern, made our way back to London, just as the sun began to set.


	16. A Visitor

**Chapter 14**

On our arrival to Baker Street that evening, we found, much to our surprise, a hunched figure sitting in our doorway, looking rather sorry for himself. Cautiously, we approached, not sure as to the nature of the visitor, but as we grew closer, we realised that the face looking at us was that of Wiggins, the 'captain' of Holmes' band of Irregulars.

"Wiggins?" I said, offering the boy a hand to get up. "What are you doing here?"

Holmes, meanwhile, had got out his key, and unlocked the door, steeping aside to allow the boy and myself entry. We walked up the stairs to the sitting room, my leg beginning to twinge uncomfortably due to the amount of exercise that we had had that day. Holmes, it seemed, noticed, because he helped me off with my coat, and then passed me a pipe and a glass of whiskey when I sat down by the fire. He sat in his chair, whilst Wiggins sat on the sofa, and I remarked, "It seems that our temporary housekeeper is more domesticated than we thought."

Holmes looked at me, puzzled, then turned his head as I gestured to the large vase of flowers on my desk behind his chair. It was a beautiful bouquet, but Holmes seemed to take little notice of it, and shrugged disinterestedly. I sighed, despairing of Holmes taking any interest in the interior decoration of our flat, and resolved to thank our new housekeeper the next day.

"Well, Wiggins," said Holmes. "What are you doing here?"

"Holmes!" I said, and he squirmed a little under my gaze as I asked more sympathetically, "Is something wrong, Wiggins?"

"Oi've go' a cold, sir." The boy said those few words so quietly, and so pathetically, that I smiled.

"Let me see, then…" I said, and heard a muffled laugh from Holmes, as I reached over to my medical bag. There was, of course, little that I could do for the boy, so I medicated him as well as I could, and offered him the warmth of a night in front of our fire. This the boy refused, and sat whilst I retrieved some old, and rather threadbare blankets for him.

"How long were you out there, Wiggins?" I heard Holmes ask quietly.

The boy hesitated for a moment, before saying "Oi realised that Missus Hudson weren't 'ere an' waited for t' new woman t' leave…she don't like us."

I sighed, bringing the blankets into the room from the store in Holmes' bedroom.

"You 'ad a visitor though."

"A visitor?" Holmes asked, quietly.

"Don' know who it was. Tall bloke. 'Ad a muffler."

"And she met him at the door?"

"New woman? Yer."

"Must have been the groceries." I said, "Mrs Hudson always gets them around this time of the week."

"Hmm…," said Holmes. He looked a little let-down, as if he had hoped that the man would turn out to be someone important. "No doubt that it was. Wiggins," he continued, "I want you to do something for me. If you aren't too unwell, of course…"

"Cawse not!" The boy looked positively jubilant, his cold and ailments forgotten in his excitement.

Holmes glanced at me, a twinkle in his eye, and said, "I want you to follow an older gentleman everywhere he goes. His name is Wilson, and he is the butler at the residence of the Duchess of Perthshire, Durrington Hall. Can you do that for me?" He reached into his pocket, and drew out six or seven shiny coins. "You can have more on receipt of information. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir!" shouted the boy, and almost forgot his blankets in his haste to leave. I handed him an old scarf of mine and a pair of gloves, and the boy pulled them on, gazing at himself in the hallway mirror proudly, before cantering off downstairs on his mission. I let out a low chuckle, and went to sit in my chair again. My leg twinged a little, and Holmes looked at me in some concern, but I smiled reassuringly at him.

"You are a crafty old fox, Holmes."

He took the stem of his pipe between his teeth and smiled at me. "I really don't know what you mean, old man."

"You know as well as I do that it is very unlikely that Wilson has anything to do with the crimes. You just wanted an excuse to give that boy some money."

He grinned at me, "You never know, Watson, the boy might find something out. And anyway…" he continued quietly, "It is the greatest injustice in the world that whilst some live in splendour and ceremony, other, more deserving wretches must take to the streets on such a night as this. The boy will find shelter. He will be warm and dry."

I smiled, deeply touched by this, "Why Holmes, I believe you are softening in old age."

"I should hope not!"

"Brain without a heart indeed! You are a positive Dr Barnardo!"

"You dare publish this in one of your romantic narratives, or we shall have the house overrun with waifs and strays. Mrs Hudson would kill us."

We smiled at each other, before I reached down to the book beside my chair, and Holmes took up a sheaf of notes beside his. We were silent for about an hour. My mind had wandered from the book and I felt my gaze wander to the fire. Holmes' eyes lit upon me, and I felt a wave of tiredness flood over me. "Do you mind if I head up to bed, Holmes? It has been a somewhat tiring day."

"Of course not, old man." His voice showed to me how tired he was as well, and I realised that he probably needed to sleep as much as I did.

"Perhaps you should go to bed as well, Holmes."

He nodded, and rose from his chair, rubbing his forehead. "Hmm…I believe I shall do as the Doctor orders."

"Are you alright?"

"Just a slight headache."

"You're exhausted Holmes. How long has it been since you slept properly?"

"A couple of days…"

"Well then. To bed with you." I bent down and retrieved a packet of powder from my bag. "For your headache…" I said, handing it to him.

"Thank you, Watson." He clapped me on the shoulder and left the room, closing his bedroom door behind him. I turned to leave, my gaze caught by the blooms on my desk for a moment. It really was a beautiful bouquet…yellows and reds and pinks and greens. Just the colours that Mary loved…although it was a more expensive bouquet than we could ever have afforded. I smiled, then turned toward the door, as I heard the noise of quiet snoring from Holmes' room. I made my way to my room and, overcome with exhaustion, fell into my bed without changing and was asleep before my head hit the pillow.


	17. An attack too close to home

**Chapter 15**

_The sound of rushing water assailed my ears, my senses as I run. I felt my heart beating, hard and fast, as I tore through the woodland, up hills and mountains, faster than I thought I could ever go. My leg felt like it was afire, but I didn't care, as I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. I had to get there - failure could not be an option. Scenery sped by me - as if I was on a train rather than on my two legs. But at the same time, everything seemed to be going too slowly - I could see my goal in the distance, but no matter how many steps I took, it always seemed only a little closer. _

_Finally, I arrived, feeling the cold spray of the Falls upon my face, and that old fear of deep water arising in my mind. I pushed it back though, knowing that now was not the time to be afraid. On a ledge, far above me, overhanging the falls, were Holmes and the reptilian figure of the ogre Moriarty. I started to climb, knowing that I had to reach Holmes - I had to save him! Moriarty had already deprived me of him once, I would not allow my dearest friend to be taken from me again…_

_I reached the ledge. Moriarty was no longer there - he had vanished! But Holmes was hanging over the side of the ledge, directly over the watery expanse of the Falls. I fell to my stomach and reached over the edge, taking his hand in mine. I began to pull him up…but his face changed…Moriarty! He cackled at me, and I let go in horror. But then, the falling man was Holmes again. He looked at me in horror and screamed my name as he fell, "Watson!"_

"_No!" I cried, feeling the tears roll down my face. "Holmes! What have I done?"_

_I lay there, unable to take my eyes from the falling body of my best friend. He fell further and further away from me, but his screams were loud in my head, "Watson! Watson!"_

"_Holmes!"_

_Watson! It hurts…!"_

I felt myself awaken with a start. It hurts? Why on earth would Holmes say that if he were falling? Suddenly, I heard an agonised scream from the floor below, and a desperate call of my name. Immediately, I jumped from my bed, grabbing the medical bag by my door, and running down the stairs. I burst into Holmes' room to see him convulsed upon his bed, his shirt ripped open, and the horrible sight one of those villainous red leeches upon his flesh, a few inches below his jugular vein.

With not one thought, I ripped it off, whereupon it shrivelled and died upon the floor. I then picked up the nearest piece of fabric I could find (Holmes' jacket, it turned out later), and started to stem the flow of blood from the gaping wound on his upper chest. A wave of nausea came over me as I perceived the amount of blood. For a moment, I stood there, horrified, unable to know what to do. Then, within a few seconds, my instincts as a doctor kicked in. I forgot that Holmes was my dearest friend, and saw him as a patient. It was, I reflect, the only way that I should have hoped to cope with the awful spectacle before me.

Leeches, I remembered, contained an anti-coagulant, to stop their victims' blood from clotting whilst they were feeding. Whilst, of course, I had never studied the process of blood-letting, nor the red leech in any great detail, this fact I knew, so I reached into my bag, and quickly made up the remedy for the sickness of haemophilia (an illness where the patient cannot stop bleeding). Whilst the remedy was never effective to a great degree, in this instance, it seemed to work, as the blood flow started to slow. Sending up a quick prayer of thanks, I held the fabric over the wound as the flow stopped.

For a moment, I sat in shock at what had just occurred. Then, in a flash, I remembered something. The poison! Thoughts about how long the leech had been attached to him, and how much poison was in his bloodstream ran through my brain. Holmes was already going into a fever - his temperature was high, but he had broken into a cold sweat, and he was quickly becoming delirious, mumbling about heaven knows what. I heard my own name mentioned a couple of times, heard him having conversations with people who I knew were long dead - friends, enemies…

There was nothing I could do about the poison…but I could treat the fever. There were probably people I could have gone to in order to get an antidote, but that would have taken far too long a time, and I was under no circumstance going to leave Holmes alone. Perhaps, I thought, if I kept him alive until the morrow, I could send our temporary housekeeper to get some aid.

Resolution made, I soaked rags and towels in the wash basin, in which the water, due to the woman's refusal to venture into Holmes' room, had gone stone cold. Systematically, I cooled Holmes' hot, flushed skin, despite his pleading for me to stop, and his earnest shivering. Hours passed, and I continued my treatment, keeping him cool, hydrated and watching him keenly for any signs that the leech's poison was having any effect on him. Apart from Holmes' high fever, however, there seemed to be no other side effects, although it was all I could do to keep him from succumbing to the fever.

Eight o'clock came, and Holmes' fever began to start dropping. I almost shouted for joy. I had worked for almost seven hours on him, and he seemed to be pulling through. Shortly after, I heard the door open and shut. "Mrs Carstairs!" I yelled, "Johnny, is that you?"

"Yes, it is, doctor," came the reply.

The woman came upstairs, and rather reluctantly came into Holmes' bedroom. "Mr Holmes has not been well," I said, shortly.

She surveyed the two of us, me in shirtsleeves and trousers, Holmes with wet rags on his torso, neck and forehead, and said, "I can see that, sir."

"Ask Johnny to bring up a jug of water, will you?" Rather brusquely, I turned away from her, and took hold of Holmes' hand. I had almost lost him several times in the night, and was only now beginning to realise the true gravity of the situation. Noiselessly, the woman turned and left. How I missed Mrs Hudson! She would have known exactly what to do and what to get me. She could not be back too quickly.

A short time later, a jug of clean, fresh and cool water was brought up by the boy, and I poured a glass. As I did so, I heard a groan from the bed next to me, and turned so quickly, I almost emptied the water all over Holmes. He looked up at me, and tried to smile, "Hello, Watson."

Unable to think of anything else to say, I said, "Hello" back.

"Not the most winning retort," Holmes said softly, with a fond chuckle in his voice.

"The situation is hardly conducive to being 'winning'," I retorted, regaining a little of my equilibrium, "By heavens, Holmes. It is good to see you awake."

Much to Holmes' embarrassment, I aided him in drinking his glass of water, then helped him to sit when he felt a little stronger. "I take it I was attacked, then."

"By a red leech, yes."

"Do you still have it?"

I nodded, and reached down to pick the creature up from where it lay on the floor, my hand covered in a handkerchief. Holmes studied it interestedly, and said, "I shall have to do some tests upon it…"

"Not now you don't."

He smiled, "Of course not. But my illness proved our theories about the cause of death in the victims?"

I sighed, then said, "I should not have liked to test that theory…but yes. Ex-sanguination was probably the main cause of death."

"And the poison?"

"Presented in fever-like symptoms. It is my belief that once the leech is removed, the poison flows out, with the flow of blood…it is only when the leech stays in place that the poison takes effect."

"I concur."

"I managed to remove the leech just after it had latched on to you. Long enough to make a wound, but not long enough for the poison to flow very far into the blood stream."

Holmes nodded, then yawned. "Do you mind if I sleep awhile, Watson?"

"Not at all, old fellow."

"You must question Mrs Carstairs…the leech came with the flowers…the man Wiggins saw…"

"I understand," I said softly. "Get some rest, old man."

"Thank you, Watson…" Holmes said, as he drifted off to sleep.

I nodded, patted his shoulder and left the room, closing the door quietly behind me. Thank the Lord he was out of danger. Sleep was the best remedy for him now, and I left him to sleep undisturbed. And while he slept and recovered, I would find the person who did this… As I went to the door, I noticed the flowers. In a sudden fit of rage, I opened the window, checked that there was no one below, and threw the vase and the flowers out, where they were crushed and smashed beyond recognition.

I made my way downstairs, and into the kitchen, where Johnny and Mrs Carstairs sat at the kitchen table. "Is Mr Holmes well, sir?" asked the little boy.

"He will be, thank you Johnny. Perhaps you would go and sit in the lounge? I may need to go out in a minute, and would feel better if there was someone with Holmes." The boy made a funny little salute, and ran for the door. I turned to his mother. "I need to talk to you about the flowers, Mrs Carstairs."

"The ones which were delivered?"

"That's it. I need a description of the man who did the delivering. Do you remember him…?"

"Well, sir, I do, because he was so remarkable."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he had the oddest voice. Kind of high and well, he must have been very young to speak so…but he was tall too, you see…well, taller than me, but not as tall as you. And I think he had red hair too, because some bits poked out from under his hood."

"Did you see his face?"

"No sir, he wore a muffler."

"Mrs Carstairs…if I said the person who delivered the flowers could have been a woman, would you think it impossible?"

She paused, "Well, no, doctor now you mention it. A tall woman, and I suppose the voice could have been a woman's. And the cloak they wore was very voluminous. I suppose…"

"Thank you, Mrs Carstairs!" I said, and ran towards the door, shouting over my shoulder, "And look after Holmes!" Running to the front door, I grabbed a coat, hat and gloves and rushed into the street, summoning a cab as I did so. "Durrington Hall! As quick as you can!" I called to the cab driver. I had been right, then. The mastermind of this foul plan had been Magdalena Grey.


	18. The Two Doctors

**Chapter 16**

My insistence as to the haste of the cab meant that we arrived in Belgravia a very short time after. I was dropped outside of the gates of Durrington Hall, and turned to look at the house. I promised myself that before the day was through, I would have the Duchess in custody for high treason, murder and attempted murder. After all that she had put me through that night, I could not bear the thought of her going free. I strode towards the gatehouse, told the keeper that I had business with the Duchess, and was admitted entry, although I did notice that the gatekeeper looked at me oddly.

I walked quickly across the courtyard, and banged upon the front door, which was opened shortly after by the butler, Wilson. "I need to speak to the Duchess," I said brusquely, and tried to push my way in, but my entry was barred by the unmovable form of the butler.

"Her Grace is not at home at present, sir."

"Then you will allow me entry, and I shall wait for her return."

"I do not think that will be acceptable, sir."

"Then I shall wait here for her return."

"You are welcome to do that, sir. But you will, if I may say so, have a very long wait."

"What?"

"Her Grace has gone away for some time. I know not when she will be back."

"I do not believe you!" I took a step forward and seized the butler by his collar, pushing him up against a wall. "Where has she gone?"

"I do not know, sir." The butler seemed unmoved by his situation, and instead looked at me steadily, as if daring me to go further.

I let out a frustrated sigh, and let the man go. "Of course you know where she has gone," I said more evenly, "but you will not tell me. You know, I suppose that your mistress is a traitor and a murderess?"

"I do not believe that, sir."

"I believe it to be true. As do others. And Her Grace was seen yesterday evening in the vicinity of our house, where shortly after my friend almost died."

"I am sorry to hear that sir. But I assure you, Her Grace was here all of yesterday afternoon and evening."

"What has she done to ensure such loyalty to her?"

"She is a good, loyal and fair mistress, sir."

Suddenly, we both heard a shout, and turned to see Dr Darcy tearing across the courtyard. "Where is she, Wilson?"

I stood between the butler and Darcy, as, from the look on his face I felt that the Doctor would probably rip Wilson to shreds when he heard the news. "She is not here, Darcy."

The young man stopped, and looked from one of us to the other. He looked exhausted and untidy, and had apparently left his house in a hurry, for he had no hat, gloves or stick. "She isn't here?" He said, softly.

"No. I came to see her too…" I stopped, and looked hard at the man's face. "What has happened?"

"It's Jack. He was attacked by one of those leeches last night. I was called to his house at about three o'clock by his butler, Danson. I worked all night to save him…he almost died."

"I am sorry," I said, genuinely, for I could think of no man less deserving of being attacked than Jack Darcy, "Holmes was attacked last night too…"

"Ah, then that is why you are here alone. Is he alright?"

"He will be. He is still weak, but he will get better. And your brother?"

"He is well, but if his butler had not had the sense to call me, he would have died. He is still effected by the poison - he is in a deep sleep - but I think with rest and the correct treatment, he will recover."

"And you came to the conclusion that it was the Duchess?"

"My brother was delivered a box of cigars yesterday…it was the only new thing in the house. The note on the front was written in the Duchess' handwriting."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. The woman sent him some sort of love letter to lure him into opening the box. She is evil, Dr Watson. Jack, of course, in his more lucid moments claims that the woman had nothing to do with it, but I cannot believe it."

"I am inclined to believe you. Holmes and I were delivered a bouquet of flowers yesterday, by the Duchess herself, I believe. She disguised herself to deliver them."

"We must find her. She is obviously quite mad. Heaven knows what she will do next, and I think her next target may be Her Majesty." He turned to the butler, who had been listening, "You heard us then? Where is she, Wilson?"

"I am afraid that I do not possess that information."

"Where?" He took a step forward, threateningly, but I took a hold of Darcy's arm.

"He will not tell us, Darcy."

Darcy sighed, then turned to walk away. I followed him, and we walked out together. "Blast the woman, Watson! Where do you think she is?"

"I don't know, Darcy. But we have to find her."

"Agreed."

"I should go back to Baker Street."

"Give Holmes my best."

"I shall. Wish your brother well for me."

Dr Darcy nodded. "I will go and see if I can find out where the Duchess is. She'll pay for what she has done, Watson."

"Good Luck."

We went our separate ways, Dr Darcy to his own carriage, and I to the street to hail a cab. My mind went to Lord Darcy. How could the woman have lured him to an almost terrible end by using his feelings for her? What a terrible woman she was! But something in the back of my mind remembered the words of the Queen, and whilst I was deposed to believe the Duchess guilty…still, there was something in me that wanted her to be innocent, if only so not to break the hearts of the Queen, Jack Darcy and the Duchess' sisters. Sighing, I got into the cab and was about to shout to the cabbie, when the small figure of Wiggins ran up to the cab window. He looked better, and grinned at me, "'Ello Doctor!"

"Hello, my boy."

"Oi've been doin' as Mr 'Olmes said."

"Sorry?"

"Watchin' the butler…are you alrigh' Doctor?"

"Fine, Wiggins, fine. Have you seen anything?"

"Not much, Doctor. Oi saw the lady leavin' this mornin'"

I nodded, and noted to myself that at least we did know that she had left, and was not hiding out in her house.

"She lef' wiv 'er sister, Doctor, and loads of bags."

I smiled, tossed Wiggins a couple of coins and shouted to the cab driver to take me back to Baker Street.


	19. Suppositions

**C****h****apter 17**

I arrived back at Baker Street a few minutes later, and was surprised to find the door opened not by Mrs Carstairs, but instead by Mrs Hudson, who I greeted warmly, and with some surprise, "My dear Mrs Hudson! I thought…"

"I was going to be away for another week? I could tell by the state of the living room." Despite her words, she grinned at me, and said, "My aunt had visitors, one of whom was a rather difficult character to get along with, so I made my excuses and came home early. I hope you don't object?"

I answered by pecking her on the cheek. She coloured slightly, and I said, "Not at all Mrs Hudson. It is a pleasure to have you back."

"And I sent that woman and her boy packing as well. I have never met such an inept housekeeper! I expect the two of you to be messy, Doctor, just as I expected her to clear up after the two of you. Honestly!"

"And you've seen Holmes?"

Mrs Hudson's face clouded with concern. "Why is it Doctor, that whenever I go away you boys get in such predicaments?"

I laughed, "How is he?"

"Up and about, despite my instructions to the contrary. I'm afraid I have not got round to cleaning the lounge yet, Doctor, but I have tidied Mr Holmes' room…and there's a hot pot of tea waiting for you upstairs."

"Mrs Hudson, you are irreplaceable. Please don't go away again!"

"My dear Doctor, if I did not, Mr Holmes would drive me to madness. Now go, get some tea, and have a sit down…your limp is worse than ever."

I smiled at her, and climbed the stairs. I paused outside the living room door, and put my sternest 'doctor face'. Whilst, of course, I was ecstatic to know that Holmes was up and about, I was still concerned about his physical state, and would hate this rush of activity to lead to a relapse. I burst in to find Sherlock Holmes standing in his dressing gown over a pair of trousers and a shirt, leaning against the mantle, and smoking a cigarette. "Ah!" He cried as I came through the door, "The wanderer returns!"

"Holmes…" I started reproachfully.

"Do not look so stern Doctor! Surely you are glad to see me well?"

"Of course I am, Holmes. I am overjoyed to see you up. But could you at least sit down?"

He sighed, but obeyed. I walked across the room, pulled out a thermometer from my bag, and took his temperature. To my joy, it was normal, and I breathed a sigh of relief, before replacing the thermometer in my bag, and going to pour myself a cup of tea.

I turned as I felt Holmes' eyes upon me. "My dear fellow, it seems you are as much in need of a chair as I am."

I nodded, and went to sit in my chair, warming my cold legs by the fire.

We sat in silence for a moment, before Holmes said, "You have been to Durrington Hall."

"How…?"

"The soil on the bottom of your trouser leg. Belgravia."

"I see…"

"And what did you find there?"

"It is the Duchess all right. She has made a run for it. Taken her sister with her too. Nobody seems to know where, and the butler isn't talking. I met David Darcy as well. His brother was attacked last night as well."

"And the receptacle…or bait I suppose?"

"A box of cigars. With a love letter of sorts in the Duchess' handwriting. He nearly died, if not for the swift actions of his butler in sending for Dr Darcy."

"Truly a most heinous crime."

"Then you agree? She is a truly evil woman?"

"I did not say that. She is a woman who has been vilified for her nature, and who is targeted because of it."

"But Holmes! She has fled from capture…"

"Indeed she has. But if she was so guilty, do you really think that she would have taken the added burden of her younger sister with her? If she were guilty, she would leave her sister behind, for she would not want the young woman dogging her heels."

"But…"

"And do you really think Lady Esther would go willingly with the sister she knew killed the man she loved?"

"She could have convinced her…"

"And, my dear Watson, I think you will find on further enquiries that the other Grey sisters will have 'disappeared' as well. The young lady is fleeing from persecution, but she feels the need to protect her sisters. These are not the actions of a murderess."

"Then all my suppositions are incorrect?"

"I am afraid so, old man." Holmes' face softened a little, "It was a perfectly natural conclusion. And you were right to tell me, for we shall have to find her. I have a feeling that if the intelligence service does not get her, then our murderer will."

"That is alright, Dr Darcy is looking for her."

Holmes smiled, "Good. A very useful young man."

"Holmes, do you have any suspects?"

"I do."

"And are you going to tell me?"

"Of course, my dear Watson. When have I ever kept you in the dark?"

I shot him a look, and he squirmed in his seat, before saying, "Yes…well…"

"So then, who?"

"Ormerod, or Denver. Or both. As well as another person inside the palace."

"And how…?"

"Denver and Ormerod have access to the inner circle of her Majesty, if not the Queen herself. They would only have to convince one other…perhaps a maid or footman?…to plant the leech to bring their plan to fruition."

"And Betterman?"

"They spent enough time with him to know about the leech, I believe. Mr Betterman was of a nature which when flattered was rather effusive. I believe that one of them found out about the leech and coerced Betterman into showing them how the leech was bred."

"But what proof have you?"

Holmes sighed, "Absolutely none, at the moment. And evidence is what we need to convince the higher authorities. There is plenty of evidence to convict the Duchess, but alack…"

"And why would they seek to frame Dr Darcy, and later Her Grace?"

"My dear fellow, you are positively bubbling over with questions I have no answer to. I need data, Watson!"

I nodded. "I understand, of course."

"We shall have to try and stay close to Ormerod and Denver once they are released from the hospital."

"You are in no fit state to follow anyone."

"I will have to be fine, Watson. There is a great danger approaching, and if we do nothing, this nation and her Great Queen will fall."

"It is reaching a critical stage?"

"Indeed. The denouement is beginning to occur. Now, how is Lord Darcy?"

"He is still comatose, and his brother thinks it could be some time before he is recovered."

Holmes nodded, deep in thought. "I should have liked to have him by our side in these last stages, but we shall have to instead ally ourselves with the good doctor. But we must not tell him of the guilt of his friends. We do not know how good an actor he is. As soon as Ormerod and Denver are released from hospital, we must talk with them. One or both of them will suggest either going after Her Grace or going down to Osborne to guard Her Majesty."

"Then you intend to use the Duchess, or the Queen, as bait?"

"I am afraid it must be done. There is very little evidence, so we must catch them in the act of trying to commit murder."

"Dear heavens," I breathed.

Holmes nodded, "We cannot afford for anything to go wrong, old fellow. If it does, we will lose lives, and I will not have it!"

There was a knock upon the door, and we both turned to see Mrs Hudson bearing a telegram. Holmes inhaled violently, and ripped the telegram out of our landladies hands, "Please do not say that they have acted!" He ripped it open, stared at it, then handed it to me. "We have our answer as to who was working with the murderers."

I read: SHERLOCK, DOCTOR STOP QUEEN'S MAID LYDIA HAMMOND FOUND DEAD LAST NIGHT STOP RED LEECH STOP HER MAJESTY PUT ON ROYAL TRAIN UP TO BALMORAL AS SOON AS THE BODY FOUND STOP PLEASE HURRY IN SOLUTION MYCROFT


	20. The Villains

**Chapter 18**

"Dear Lord, Holmes," I breathed, "The Queen's Maid?"

"A woman very susceptible, I would suggest, to anyone who paid attention to her. I am afraid I have come across the type on numerous occasions, women not endowed with intelligence, who are seduced by a seeking man, and who promise to do his will in return for romance."

"It is villainous!" I cried. "And you think…"

"I think that the Queen was to have been murdered last night, and that Hammond was to do it. But she was clumsy and indelicate, and she managed to let the leech attack her instead."

"The poor woman…" I said, sympathetically, "She may have done wrong, but if she was taken advantage of…"

"Indeed," said Holmes, thoughtfully.

"I looked at him, puzzled, "Is something wrong, Holmes?"

"I…I don't know. It's just…a thought has come to me, Watson."

"What?"

"Well…I do not pretend to know what a woman believes to be attractive, but neither Ormerod nor Denver are quite the heroes of novels like Jane Austen's or the Brontës'." He shook his head, "But then again, apparently love is blind…"

"And Ormerod is one of the most eligible bachelors at court," I said. We both looked up as the doorbell rang, and Holmes, with more energy then I would have given him credit for after last night, sprang up and went to look out of the window.

"It is them!" He cried, "The game begins, Watson, old man. They are here with Dr Darcy. Now, remember Watson, neither of them must know that we suspect them."

I nodded, and stood, my heart beating fast as we heard them climbing the stairs. I had never been terribly good at acting, but this was an emergency. I had to make the two men believe that we did not know of their crimes, had to treat them jovially and as friends, no matter how much my heart might rebel at such an action.

The three men were shown in by Mrs Hudson. Ormerod and Denver both looked a little pale - but then again they had been recently 'attacked' by a red leech. Dr Darcy looked worried, but enthused, and greeted us excitedly. "I know where she is!" He cried, "I know where she has gone!"

"Her Grace?" queried Holmes.

"Indeed."

"I s-s-s-suppose you have h-heard of the occurrences o-of l-l-l-last night?" Ormerod asked. His stutter had grown worse over the last few days, as had his lisp.

"We have received a telegram a few minutes ago."

"There was a letter waiting for me when I got home this morning. I cannot believe it!" said Dr Darcy, sadly. "The maid always seemed most attached to Her Majesty."

"You still believe Lady Grey to be guilty of the crimes?" Holmes asked.

The three men nodded, "Absolutely," said Darcy. "All evidence points to her. You think that too, do you not?"

Holmes nodded, "I do, as I think, does Doctor Watson. But surely the Queen will now be safe if she is in Balmoral?"

"But Mr Holmes," said Darcy, "the woman - the duchess - she is in Scotland! I have found out that she is at her Castle in Perthshire - not far from Balmoral! As soon as she hears that Her Majesty is in Scotland, I am sure that she will try to finish what she has started!"

"What do you suggest, Gentlemen?" asked Holmes calmly, as if asking advice as to the weather or such.

"That we go up to Scotland and try to find the Duchess, Herr Holmes," said Denver, "And if we cannot find her, make all possible haste to Balmoral to act as a guard for the Queen."

Holmes nodded, "A good plan, Herr Denver. We shall come with you."

"But," said Ormerod, "A-A-Are you quite w-well, Mr Holmes?"

"I will be fine," said Holmes, "if you will give us a moment to pack, Watson and I will be at your disposal. What do you propose as travel arrangements, gentlemen?"

"The next train to Edinburgh, via York," said Dr Darcy, "Then a local train to the nearest station to Dalgiesh Castle. From there we shall have to find our own transport - most probably horses."

The two of us nodded, and Holmes went to his room to pack quickly, whilst I went to my own. My luggage was very little - a clean shirt, shaving kit, toothbrush and my revolver, all shoved into my medical bag. I heard my name being called from the bottom of the stairs, and left my room with my bag, hearing Holmes' imperious voice telling Mrs Hudson that we could be gone for some time. The other men had gone ahead to get a carriage by the time I got downstairs, and I smiled gratefully at Mrs Hudson as she pressed a packet of sandwiches into my hands, then at Holmes, as he helped me into my coat. "Remember," he whispered quietly to me as he did so, "they must not know."

I gave my assent, and the two of us went to get into the carriage that the men had hailed. It was a little of a squash for the five of us, but we managed it, and soon enough, we were on the train at King's Cross station which would take us to Edinburgh. We had managed to make it to the station to catch the noon departure, and a little after twelve, we pulled out of the station on the long journey to the north. The journey would take 8 ½ hours, with a stop at York on the way, meaning that we should get into Waverley station in Edinburgh a little after half-past eight.

To be honest, I was rather worried about falling asleep on the train, in case our companions chose to murder me or Holmes or Dr Darcy whilst we slept, but I was so tired from the activities of the previous night, that I was soon past the point of care, and fell fast asleep, lulled by the rocking of the train. Holmes woke me to eat at York, but I soon fell asleep again once the train was moving and awoke as we were pulling into the station. To my embarrassment, Holmes had removed his Inverness, and had placed it over me while I had been sleeping. He grinned at me, took his coat back without a word, and handed me my bag as we got off the train.

It was just as difficult as we had expected to find a local train to anywhere near Dalgiesh Castle, and the driver and conductors seemed to have no timetable, so the trains left when they felt quite ready to do so, despite prompting from Holmes and Darcy. By the time we reached the little town of Aberfeldy, which was almost up in the highlands, it was around half past ten. It was quite easy, however, to find horses to hire and directions to the castle, despite the late hour, and after a quick meal in the welcoming little tavern, we were on our way. My leg, which had been rested almost all of the day on various trains, felt much improved, and I quite enjoyed our moonlit ride through the rugged countryside to the Castle. And what a castle it was! Rising out of a moat, it was as rugged and beautiful as the countryside around it, and almost seemed to be a mountain, made of grey stone. There were no lights in the castle, and it looked quite unoccupied. We rode up, crossed the bridge into the courtyard and dismounted. The place was quiet and still.

"They have to be here," whispered Darcy, "Let us go and see what we can find…"

We nodded, and the five of us crept across the yard past the quiet and still stables and outbuildings which surrounded the courtyard and made our way to the big oak door. Out of the corner of my eye, I could swear that I saw something moving in the darkness of one of the stables, but when I looked again, it was gone. Dr Darcy knocked upon the door, but there was no answer. He tried the handle, and the door opened with a creak.

"I suppose," said Holmes, "Up here in the highlands, there is no need to lock the doors."

"But surely there must be staff," I said, quietly.

"Did you not see the little cottage about two miles off? I'll wager that to be the house of the caretaker and other servants when their mistress is not here."

We went in, and crept from room to room, searching and lighting fires as we went. There was no one. The house was empty.

Dr Darcy sighed, "I am sorry to have brought you here on a fool's errand."

Holmes shook his head, "It is alright, Doctor. And we still have to go to Balmoral."

"It is a half days ride from here, Mr Holmes, as the train does not go up that far. I would recommend that we spend the night here."

"I agree," I said, "It will be dangerous for both us and the horses to go further in the dark."

It was settled that we would wait out the night in a small sitting room, which was small enough to be both warm and light, with a couple of comfortable sofas and chairs. I felt more or less awake now, invigorated by the ride and the cold weather, so sat next to Holmes, reading a copy of Shakespeare that I had found on a side table. Denver and Ormerod sat together on another sofa as well, whilst Darcy had taken a chair, but had got up to pour us all drinks. He passed a couple of glasses of water with a reprimanding look at Ormerod and Denver, who, I thought, had a bit of a weakness for alcohol, took a glass of tonic water for himself, professing himself to be quite warm enough not to want whiskey, and passed Holmes and I a glass of whiskey each, which we both drank gratefully.

To my surprise, about five or ten minutes after I had drunk the whiskey, I began to feel sleepy, and dozy. I looked to my right to see that Holmes also seemed to have trouble keeping his eyes open. Our eyes met, and we both realised with a flash of realisation that we had been drugged. We looked over to our companions, who were staring at us. Most shocking was the cruel smile upon David Darcy's face. I tried to speak…but I was so tired…I looked over at Holmes…but he seemed to have already lapsed into sleep…he was slipping off the sofa. I reached out to him, but fell myself, found myself laying upon the floor, utterly spent, the unwelcome arms of Morpheus coming to take me. I managed to get my eyes open once, and found Dr Darcy leaning over me. He smiled, that cruel smile, again, and whispered, "By the time you awaken, Dr Watson, Her Majesty will be dead…and then we'll come back for you and your friend." I heard him laugh, heard Ormerod and Denver laugh…then I fell into the darkness of sleep.


	21. Discovery

**Chapter 19**

I awoke slowly, hazily, with a splitting headache, and a stabbing pain in my wounded leg. I let out a low groan, and tried to open my eyes. I did so, but saw nothing, apart from blackness, as if my eyes were still closed. I am not a man afraid of the dark, but the very feeling of being in the utter blackness and not being able to see a thing, frankly terrified me. I sat up, thankful that I was not in a confined space, for I had not banged my head when I sat up. I sat there for a moment, trying to smother the feeling of panic, and think sensibly. I had to stay calm.

My first rational thought was about Holmes. Where was he? Was I alone in this room, or was he here too? My own quick, heavy breathing masked any other signs of life in the room, and I calmed myself, and strained to hear. Yes! I could here the sound of another person breathing. "Holmes?" I said quietly, then again, a little louder, "Holmes?"

There was a moan, then the sound of Holmes' voice. "Watson? Is that you?"

"Yes, old man. Are you hurt?"

"No, Watson. Just a headache."

I heard him shift position, then felt the touch of a hand on my back, then upon my shoulder. I, in return, patted his hand gently to let him know I was all there, then slowly got to my feet, and stood still as I heard Holmes do the same. "Did you know it was him?" The question came from my lips before I could stop it, and I inwardly cursed myself - of course Holmes would blame himself, and I did not want him to think I blamed him too.

There was a sigh, then Holmes answered my question in a tone of voice which distressed me greatly, "No. I did not. I thought the blasted man was on our side."

"I did too, Holmes," I said, soothingly, "As did her Majesty, and your brother, and indeed his brother…"

"But I should have seen through him!" Holmes' voice was angry and frustrated.

I took the opportunity to blindly find his shoulder, and squeezed it, "It is not your fault, old man. Nobody could have known that the Doctor was such a villain. He was a brilliant actor, and he played his part well. You are not infallible, you know."

There was a silence, before Holmes said, quietly, "Thank you, my dear Watson."

We stood for a moment, before I said, "We should find a way out of here, else all is lost."

"Stay here," Holmes' voice ran out more confidently, and I heard him step away. But he did not go far, because I heard a sudden "oof…"

I had to smile, and said lightly, "I take it you have found the wall then?"

Holmes chuckled, "Yes, thank you, Watson."

I heard him start to walk, brush past me a few times, before saying, "We are in a small round turret room, stone walls, still in the castle. There is one door, and no windows. The door is solid oak, and is locked fast. The hinges are iron, and will not give way."

"Is there no way out?"

"None at all. The floors are as stone as the walls."

"We cannot just do nothing! The Queen is in danger!"

Holmes sighed, frustrated, and I heard him bang his hand on the door in frustration. "I know, I know! But there…"

He trailed off, as we heard the sound of voices echoing faintly below us. Heaven knows how far away they were, but there were voices! As one, we began to yell loudly, shouting for help.

We continued for almost half an hour, shouting and calling. Every so often, the voices would come nearer, then fade again. We had taken to banging on the door and floors, anything to make some sort of noise. Then, thank heavens, we heard footsteps, running up a staircase towards the door. By this time, the room had become cold, and we were starting to lose fresh air. To our relief, a light shone under the door, and the thin slice of light illuminated the room. Holmes looked terrible, with dark shadows under his eyes, pale, shivering. I must have looked just as bad, because Holmes touched me on the forearm, and said in a low whisper, "Alright, Watson?"

I nodded, and turned back towards the door. We had no idea who was coming for us. It could be Darcy and his friends coming back to finish us off, or perhaps some of the Queen's men…

The footsteps reached the door. One pair were light - too light to be Darcy's or Denver's and another pair were heavier. I heard the sound of a key turning in the lock, and made ready to fight. We were both caught off guard, however, by the sudden brightness of the lights that the people carried, and both stepped back, shielding our eyes.

A voice rang out, somewhat familiar, "You?"

We turned back, to see the Duchess, flanked by an unknown man. She wielded a revolver, which she had hastily lowered when she saw us, and wore a dark navy dress and coat, trimmed in black ermine. Whilst I was utterly shocked, Holmes recovered his composure relatively quickly, gave a slight incline of his head, and said, "Your Grace."

"But…" the girl started, then said, "You had better come downstairs. I think I am owed an explanation as to why you are in my house."

She turned on her heel, and started down the steps, replacing her gun in a pocket as she did so. Holmes and I followed, and the other man, who I took to be a member of the Duchess' staff brought up the rear. We were led through the house, and I saw that we had been imprisoned in a disused wing of the castle, which was why it had taken so long for us to be found. We walked back into parts of the house that I recognised, before ending up in the same room we had been in before, only now the fire was roaring, and the room was brightly lit by a multitude of candles.

The Duchess waved us to a sofa, but stayed standing herself, as she went across to the mantle. To my surprise, she walked back to us wielding a box of cigarettes and a box of matches, which she gave to us with the smallest hint of a smile. Gratefully, we both partook, and she said, in explanation, "They were my father's." Her manner had changed somewhat since we had last seen her. She was still somewhat detached, but the air of coldness had gone, as had the sarcasm and cruelty. To my immense surprise, I found myself somewhat liking her. "Now, gentlemen," she said, "I want to know what happened here."

Quickly, Holmes told her of all that had happened, before finishing with, "But you must answer some of my questions, your Grace…"

She met his eyes, and nodded, "Very well, Mr Holmes."

"What happened to make you leave London?"

"It was your brother's idea. After Wilson was returned to the house, Mr Mycroft Holmes came to Durrington Hall. He told me that with the new attacks upon Ormerod and Denver, the evidence was mounting against me. He persuaded me to take my sister, and flee up to Scotland. I collected my youngest sisters on the journey and we hurried up here - to safety, or so we thought."

"And what about last night?" I asked.

"We were informed that you were heading this way by a fast rider from the town. We managed to vacate the Hall, and leave it us if unoccupied before you arrived. The girls and our horses were hurried off to the servants cottage, and I stayed behind in the stables with a couple of my men. We saw three men leave at about two o'clock, but did not see the two of you leave, which is the reason that we have not ventured back into the house until recently." She turned to Holmes, "Is it true? About David?"

"I am afraid so. He has been the mastermind behind all the attacks. But we must make haste - they ride for Balmoral, and I am afraid that they will try and attack the Queen again - and this time they may be successful."

Lady Grey nodded, then said, "Poor Jack…" Then, as if the thought were only just occurring to her, she asked, "Where is he?"

"He was attacked the night before last." I said, "He was sent a present, and a letter, professing to be from yourself."

She gasped, and for the first time, her mask of detachment fell from her face, "He is not dead?"

"No, your Grace," I said, gently. "He will be well."

The girl closed her eyes, as if reclaiming her senses, then nodded. And I saw in that moment the truth. The Duchess was just as in love with Lord Darcy as he was with her.

Holmes, wrenched us back to reality with the statement, "We need to leave, your Grace."

The girl nodded, steeled herself, and said, "Come this way. We have horses ready." We followed her out, and she said, "I am coming with you, gentlemen."

"Do you think…?" I started.

"I want to know why David would detest me so much as to try and have me hanged." She turned, and met our eyes, the coldness back in her visage, although I could not help but admire her spirit. "They are my horses, gentlemen. My decision."

Holmes inclined his head, and we walked out into the courtyard, where three horses were standing, held by grooms. We were both given firearms, as we had lost ours at the hands of the men we were about to give chase to, and were offered warm coats, gloves, hats and scarves, which we took gratefully. As we were about to mount, there was a rush of young female voices entering the yard. We looked over to see five girls, one of whom was Lady Esther, hurrying toward their eldest sister. Two of the girls, the youngest two, had dark red hair like the Duchess, whilst the other two had blonde hair like Lady Esther.

The Duchess said a few words to them, hugged each sister, and then, with the help of her groom, mounted her horse side-saddle, then walked the horse towards us. We mounted our horses as well, and Holmes turned to the Duchess, "How long will it take us?"

"I am told that Darcy and his friends took the western route. If we take the eastern route, it will take us a shorter time, although it is a harder ride. A good few hours, however." She turned to look at me, a flash of concern in her eyes, "Will you be well, Doctor?"

"I will," I said, "We should go."

Lady Grey nodded, and the three of us urged our horses out of the gatehouse, then kicked them into a gallop, as we headed into the cold north - towards the Highlands, and the castle of Balmoral and the Queen. I just hoped that we would get there in time.


	22. Balmoral

**Eek! How long has it been? I can only say how sorry I am for leaving this so long. I am afraid a combination of writing my dissertation and getting ahead of myself with planning another story is to blame… Anyway, god willing, this story should be finished soon…but there is a bit of action to go! So, please read and review! **

**Chapter 20**

Galloping through the wilds of Scotland, I am ashamed to say that I hardly had time to worry about David's nefarious intentions towards our Queen, nor her safety and that of anyone who stood with her. The road, as the Duchess had said, was hard and treacherous, in places not a road at all, barely a dirt track. All the time, we had to stay alert, watching the road ahead of us for rocks, boulders and such, but at the same time, continuing in a steady gallop to try and reach Balmoral before it was too late.

The Duchess was, it has to be said, a magnificent horsewoman, who, despite sitting side-saddle was able to match us for speed even in the most precarious parts of our journey. The horses which we had been provided with were first-rate, hardened by years in the cold countryside of Scotland, to fast, well-built creatures, with seemingly unquenchable stamina.

We none of us spoke during the ride, all of us realising the importance of keeping our wits about us, and only stopping to rest once, at a tiny tavern well away from anywhere, but surprisingly full of people. None of them recognised the Duchess, for which she seemed inordinately grateful, and the owner went outside to water the horses, whilst we sat in the cosy warmth sipping small glasses of scotch whiskey and eating the hunk of freshly made bread which we were given. While we ate, Holmes turned to Lady Grey "How far are we from Balmoral?"

"A matter of a couple of hours. We could have continued but the horses needed a rest…"

I nodded, and said quietly, "And Dr Darcy?"

The girl chewed her lip, but answered, "I would expect them to get there in about an hour. As I said, the western road is the easier, but the longer. But they would be in no hurry to get to Balmoral, for they do not know that I was in the Castle, and they will think that you are still there."

Silence fell for a moment, before Holmes stood, "I think we should continue, my lady."

She nodded, and we left the tavern, giving our hearty thanks to the landlord, and mounting the horses. As we turned the horses to the open road again, I said, "Holmes?"

He turned, "Watson?"

"Why do you think David did not kill us? While he had the chance?"

Holmes shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know. My only explanation is that Darcy believed that the drug he had given us was stronger than it actually was. But perhaps it should be noted, Watson, that David has not actually directly murdered anyone yet. He has allowed them to die by his leeches, but he has not laid hands on anyone to end their lives. Perhaps in some fanciful way, he wanted his 'first blood' to be the Queen's."

"But that is madness, Holmes!"

"A rather brilliant kind of madness. And perhaps the most dangerous. Come, now. We must go."

He kicked his horse onwards, followed by myself, and then by the lady. Onwards we rode, through the sparse, beautiful countryside of the Scottish Highlands. Through the fields of heather, past lochs and mountains and forests until, in the distance, we saw the turrets of the grey castle, flying at flag from the flagpole, illuminated in the early morning sunshine. And it was sunny, the sky blue and unclouded - a thoroughly beautiful day. We rode over the brow of a hill, and there it was, in all its glory, surrounded by gardens full of cheerfully coloured flowers.

Indeed, I felt my spirits begin to lift for just a moment, before I remembered the reason for our visit. The horses were obviously tired, but we continued, galloping down the hill, and towards the main gates. The gates were opened for us, by a couple of gatekeepers, as soon as they realised that the Duchess was travelling with us, and we rode down through the tree-lined avenue of trees down towards the carriage courtyard.

We dismounted, and looked about us. The place was completely deserted. All of a sudden, a cry went up, and doors opened around us from every which way. The men were soldiers, wielding guns, which were being pointed directly at us - or more especially the Duchess.

A man stepped forward, wearing the uniform of the Queen's guard, he was tall and broad, in his late forties and had a large, bushy, black moustache. "Raise your hands" he said, in a soft Scottish accent, and as we did so we were relieved of our weapons. The man turned to the lady "Well, well, your Grace. I never thought you would be so deucedly stupid to venture up to Balmoral when you must know that the entirety of Her Majesty's guard are looking for you."

The Duchess sighed, frustrated, "For heavens sake, Colonel Montague…"

"I am afraid I must arrest you, your Grace," he turned to Holmes and I and said, "And you too, gentlemen. I am under orders to arrest anyone who is accompanying Her Grace. Anyone."

"And who might these orders come from?" asked Holmes.

"Dr Darcy, the Royal Physician. He has been working with Her Majesty's intelligence…"

"He has been doing no such thing!" cried the Duchess. "Darcy is the traitor!"

"There is more against you, your Grace, than against Dr Darcy."

"Montague…"

Holmes spoke up, his voice quiet, but authoritative. "Colonel. I promise you that you have nothing to fear from us. Surely the services the Doctor and I have given to the Empire show our allegiances?"

"Mr Holmes…"

"I take it from what you have said that Dr Darcy has already arrived. How long ago?"

"About an hour."

"And where did he go?"

"He talked to me, with Denver and Ormerod, then went after the Queen…"

"And where is Her Majesty?"

"She went on her morning carriage ride with the Princess Beatrice and Lord Mattisson, her Majesty's Private Secretary. And, may I add, a number of armed guards."

"Colonel Montague, Her Majesty is in grave danger. We must go after her…"

"My men…"

"Your men will be killed outright…" I said, "The men who have been trying to kill Her Majesty have no qualms about an ungentle manly fight. Both Ormerod and Denver are said to be crack shots."

"Please Montague," said the Duchess quietly. "What have you to lose?"

The man seemed to consider for a moment, before shaking his head, "I have orders…"

"From a man," I pointed out, "who is the murderer. Come with us, bring some of your men, and keep an eye upon us. If Darcy and his friends do not try to murder the Queen, you can arrest us. But if they do and we are not there, her Majesty will die."

"Colonel Montague," said Holmes, quietly, "I give you my word of honour as a gentleman that we are not traitors. You remember the assistance I leant the Empire all those years ago in that affair concerning the Chinese belt? I must ask you to trust me as you did then."

The Colonel looked from Holmes, to myself, to the Duchess, then nodded, slowly. "Very well," he said, "So be it."

He led the way to a dog cart, pulled by two stocky looking horses, and we all climbed aboard, with Montague taking up the reins. He gave a short order and two soldiers on horseback followed us, as the cart pulled out of the gates and onto the main estate. The cart joined a road, smooth with use, and the colonel said, as the horses cantered along it, "This is Her Majesty's favourite ride. She and her daughter go out in the carriage here everyday."

"And where does it go?" I asked.

"Around the grounds," answered the Colonel. "In a loop back to the main gates."

We continued for some time, the route taking us through gardens and forests and up hills. But for the three of us, we none of us really noticed the beauties around us. Where was the Queen?

All of a sudden, we heard the whinny of a horse, and the sound of hooves upon the road. The colonel stopped the dog cart, and we all looked and listened. Around the bend came a carriage - a little more luxurious than ours - the horses running. But there was no one inside.

The Colonel let out a curse, and jumped from the cart, closely followed by Holmes, then myself, offering the Duchess a hand to help her alight. In the meanwhile, the Colonel and Holmes had quieted the horses. We ran up to them, and Montague turned to us, looking grim. "You were right, it seems. And I owe you an apology."

"There is no time…" said Holmes, shortly, and he started to run along the road whence the horses had come, leaving us, the two soldiers and the carriage and horses standing there.

"Blast it!" the Colonel burst out. "I knew that I should have gone with them…"

"It isn't your fault," said Lady Grey, quietly, placing a soothing hand upon his forearm, "We were all deceived by Dr Darcy."

We waited for Holmes to return, and were rewarded by his appearance a few minutes later. He was out of breath, but there was a light of triumph in his eyes. "I can see where the horses turned off the track!" he panted. "There was a scuffle, and the horses were turned south, but they obviously were let go, or got free and returned to the road. What is there south?" He turned to the Colonel and the Duchess.

"Hunting Lodges, mostly," said the Colonel.

"Yes," continued the Duchess, "The Grey's have always had one."

"And the Darcy's?" I asked.

"No…" said the girl slowly. Then she looked up, "But Ormerod does!"

"Then that is where we shall go first," said Holmes, "I have a feeling that Darcy will go there. He has no reason to believe that he will be followed, so he would not need to think of anywhere more obscure."

"Then we must go!" said the Colonel. "Jenkins," he turned to one of the soldiers. "Go and get all the men you can muster. This is the furthest point from the castle, but hopefully you will get back in time." The young soldier nodded, and turned his horse, galloping back up the road. The Colonel turned back to the dog cart, and took out our revolvers, handing them back to Holmes, the Duchess and I. "I think you may have need of these."

We nodded, and all got back into the dog cart, with the Colonel urging the horses, down to the place where Holmes said we must turn off. There was indeed a less used trail here, heading south, and we took it, the dog cart bumping along the rough ground, and the soldier behind us. Our speed was slower now, much slower. With every bump and jolt the Colonel cursed loudly. Holmes was sitting tensely beside me as we continued in silence. This silence was broken when we saw the body sprawled on the ground in front of us.


	23. Confrontation

**Chapter 21**

With a curse, Montague jumped from the driver's seat, going to kneel by the body, which was lying face down on the leaf-covered ground. He turned it over, and I heard an intake of breath from the girl next to me. Indeed, if I had not been hardened from almost fifteen years in the company of Sherlock Holmes and a background as an army doctor, I should probably have gasped as well. The man had been shot through the stomach with a gun loaded with soft-nosed bullets, horrible things which made a large and very definite hole in the victim. The man's - although perhaps boy's face would be more accurate, for he was no older than one or two and twenty - was twisted into a look of horror. But much worse was the fact that around the wound lay ten or eleven bloated red leeches, filled with the blood of their victim.

Montague sprang backwards onto his feet, and made his way back to the cart. Holmes, meanwhile, had edged forward to take the reins, and he thrust out a hand to the obviously shaken Colonel. The girl, meanwhile, had moved closer to me, and I placed a reassuring hand upon her shoulder. Without saying anything, we continued.

Some time after, we came to the edge of some trees, and alighted from the cart. Just beyond the trees was a hunting lodge, and guarding the door were Ormerod and Denver. In the darkness of the shade of the trees, I felt Holmes' hand upon my arm. Quietly, he murmured "Watson, will you come with me?"

I looked up in some surprise, "Of course, my dear fellow."

He squeezed my arm, then directed himself to Montague and the Duchess, "Watson and I will go on ahead, and clear the way of Ormerod and Denver. Colonel, my Lady, we will signal to you when you are needed."

Montague opened his mouth to say something, but was silenced with a look from my friend. Holmes again turned to me, his face a picture of indecision, "Are you sure you wish to come, old man?"

I shot him a look, "Where you like, when you like, remember?"

He grinned, "I had to ask…"

"And I was bound to answer…"

He nodded, and we both retrieved our guns from our pockets. Holmes turned to the young soldier, who stood a little way off, dismounted from his horse. "If anything goes wrong, you and the Colonel must make the next advance. Do you understand?"

The boy nodded, and saluted my friend, "Would be an honour, sir."

"Good man." I said, quietly, before following Holmes.

We walked along just inside the limits of the trees, watching Ormerod and Denver. They seemed completely unaware of their surroundings, deep in conversation with each other. They obviously believed there to be no threat of any kind, and did not think that they needed to be alert.

"Holmes?" I said, in a whisper.

"Watson?"

"Do I shoot to kill?"

There was a silence for a moment, before he said, "Both Ormerod and Denver are, as we have heard, crack shots. They will be shooting to kill. But we will give them chance to run away first." He turned to me and grinned, "Seems like the gentlemanly thing to do."

"Oh, absolutely," I smiled back.

Quietly, we both raised our revolvers, aiming in the first instance to fire above the heads of our quarry. Holmes signalled to me, and a cacophony of shots rang our from our guns.

Immediately, Denver and Ormerod both ducked down, and pulled out their own weapons, firing them off. I was singularly surprised at their accuracy, as I felt bullets whiz past my face and left arm. Holmes meanwhile stood unmoving, and let off another couple of shots, one which seemed to catch Denver in the leg, whilst another lodged itself into the wall above Ormerod's head.

The front door opened a trifle, not so that we could see or hear who was inside, but I could make a fairly concerted guess - David.

Before I could say anything, I felt a flash of pain against my left cheek, and cried out in more surprise than pain. Holmes, however, whipped around, his eyes bright with concern, to look at me. "Watson!"

I waved him away, and said, "Holmes, it's alright. Just a scratch."

"Are you sure?"

I nodded, and turned back to open fire again. Holmes looked at me for the slightest moment, before turning back, his eyes blazing with anger.

A cry rang out. One of us had hit our target, and Ormerod fell down. Denver meanwhile, looked down at the man lying on the floor, and…laughed. It was a horrible, dead sort of laugh, as he stopped firing, and stood there. We had emerged from the trees as we were shooting, and now stood some distance from each other. Denver's voice rang out. "Herr Holmes! It seems his Lordship is dead."

"Stand down, Denver!" I cried. "We will not hurt you if you lay down your weapon and surrender."

"Never!" yelled Denver. With a laugh, he brought his gun to bear on Holmes and armed it. Without one moments hesitation, I fired, a single shot square to the chest. Denver let out a scream, fell and then expired.

Holmes and I glanced at each other. "It is not over yet," he said quietly.

All of a sudden, someone yelled out from behind us. We took off back to where we had left the Colonel, the Duchess and the soldier, to find the young man dead upon the ground. Montague, meanwhile lay with a bullet wound in his leg, and was being tended to by Lady Grey, who had a cut across the top of her left arm and a bruise on one side of her face. She bore her gun, and just beyond her lay two soldiers - both dead. The girl was breathing quickly - too quickly - but let Holmes help her to her feet as I dealt with the Colonel.

"What happened?" asked Holmes gently.

"I…I…" the girl stammered, then seemed to collect herself. "We heard the shooting start, and then those two soldiers attacked us from behind. They shot the soldier - Henderson, I mean - and knocked me down. Montague shot one of them, but then he fell too… I awoke to see the other soldier standing over him, and managed to get hold of my gun and fire…and I killed him…I've never killed anyone…" She broke off, suddenly silent. Holmes placed a reassuring hand upon her arm, before saying my name.

I looked up. "He'll be alright. It passed clean through, but there isn't any muscle damage."

Montague seemed to rouse himself "I'm fine. Get to the Queen."

Holmes nodded, "Watson…we must go. You too, Lady Grey." The girl hesitated, looking a great deal younger and more vulnerable than I had seen her before. "The Queen might need you…" With these words, the Duchess seemed to gather herself together.

I rose to my feet, and the three of us, Holmes first, then the Duchess, and then myself, made our way across the clearing to the lodge. When we reached the door, Holmes and I barged our way in. But there was no one there…the lodge completely empty. A back door was swinging open on its hinges, the smell of tobacco fresh. Someone had been here very recently. Holmes ran through the back door into the forest, Lady Grey and I close on his heels. In fact, we were running so hard, that neither of us noticed that Holmes had stopped, until we were nearly on top of him. We all looked up.

David Darcy stood facing us, about a hundred or so yards away. He stood by a loch, and to our horror, he held the Queen in front of him like a shield, a gun to her head. Everything seemed to stop. The Princess lay dazed and unconscious on the ground to the side of us, whilst next to her, a man who I recognised as Lord Mattisson lay shot through the heart.

Holmes spoke up first, his voice steady and calm, "Let her go, Darcy."

"No."

"You are outnumbered three to one. You are already guilty of murder. Do not add high treason to your list of crimes."

"Can you make me, Holmes?"

Holmes studied him for a moment, and then said, "Why did you do it?"

"Deduce, Holmes, deduce. I would adore to see you in action."

"Money… perhaps. You are not a wealthy man - at least not on a level with your elder brother. But I do not think that money is your sole motive for the murders you have committed. Power… not for yourself. For it is most unlikely that Her Majesty's heir would keep all of her staff. Obviously, your aim could be to ensure your brother's power is heightened - for he is a great friend of the Prince of Wales, is he not - but I do not think you care enough for your brother to help him in that way…"

David laughed, "No indeed. Weak, stupid man that my brother is!"

"Beliefs… perhaps a political allegiance or an ideological belief in the inferiority of women… but no. I do not think you hold any belief or value dear enough to endanger your life."

David laughed. As he did so, the Princess began to awaken, and Lady Grey hurried to her side. David did not remove his revolver from the Queen's neck, but did watch her for a moment, before turning back to Holmes. He was fixated on Holmes now, not letting his eyes leave my friend's face for a moment. Slowly, silently, I started to circle David and the Queen, until I stood to his right side. On his left was the loch, which I could not look at without suppressing a shiver. I have a rather deathly fear of deep water… but for my Queen and country…

"That leaves one option…" said Holmes, his eyes meeting David's.

"And what is that Holmes?"

"Love," said the detective quietly."

"Love?"

"Love…or perhaps obsession should be a better word…"

Something had struck a nerve. For one moment, David lowered his weapon from the Queen's neck. And I pounced.

Silently, I ran towards the man. He did not realise where I was until I was almost on top of him, so he did not have a chance to defend himself. I grabbed hold of the Queen, and pulled her from his arms - perhaps a little roughly, but she had to be free - and grabbed hold of the wrist of the hand which held the gun, pushing it into the air and struggling with him.

All of a sudden, the ground around us seemed to give way, and David fell backwards into the loch, pulling me with him. I heard Holmes shout out my name, heard Lady Grey call out, then plunged, still entwined with David into the deep blackness of the loch.


	24. Confessions

**Long chapter…please read and review! Only this and the epilogue to go!**

**Chapter 22**

Everything was black. I could not think straight. Time had no meaning. David and I fell through the water, entangled together, my arms around him in a death-grip, his hands around my neck, cutting off my air supply. With every passing second, I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness, drowning… All I could see was his manically grinning face, lit up eerily by the little light shining through the water. Terror swept through my heart, and all I could think of was the death awaiting me in…three minutes? Or three seconds? I forgot everything save the fact I was afraid - the Duchess, the Queen, my friend.

But he had not forgotten me. All of a sudden, a shadow fell over us. David looked up, to see Holmes swimming down towards us. Before David could react, Holmes had brought the butt of a gun down on his head, and David had succumbed to unconsciousness. His hands fell from my neck, and I started to fall downwards, but was arrested my Holmes' arms around me. I gripped on to him for sheer life, and we started to raise towards the surface, Holmes gripping me around the waist with one arm, and with the other, pulling David along behind.

We reached the surface, and air came flooding back into my lungs, the cold air making me cough and wheeze. We were near enough to the side for Holmes to slowly manoeuvre us towards the banks of the loch. I was still terrified, and not much help. It was not until I was clear enough in the head to come back to my senses a little that I heard Holmes' breathing - very hard and very fast. I managed to convince my arms to let go of him a little, and Holmes smiled weakly at me, "Thank you," he gasped.

We reached the side of the loch, and I felt a hand close around my wrist, pulling me up from the water. Another hand grabbed the back of my coat, and I looked up to see a soldier and the Duchess pulling me onto dry ground. Another soldier was helping Holmes, and another had pulled the still unconscious form of David Darcy, rather more roughly than had been the case with either of us, onto the bank of the loch. I laid there for a minute, my breathing rapid, every so often coughing up the loch water. Exhausted, I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

I awoke to see Holmes' concerned face, as he knelt over me, a coat around his shoulders. I had been covered with two army-issue greatcoats as well, and felt warm and drier. "Alright, old man?" asked Holmes, his voice quiet with concern.

I reached up and patted his hand, "Fine, Holmes. Will you help me up?"

"Watson…"

"My dear fellow, apart from a cough and a bruised ego, there is nothing wrong with me in the slightest."

Holmes smiled, and helped me to a sitting position, before whispering vehemently into my ear, "You have nothing whatever to be ashamed of, Watson. You saved Her Majesty's life."

"And almost drowned you in the process."

"You should not be ashamed of what you fear, Watson." I chuckled ruefully, but stopped when Holmes whispered, "My greatest fear almost came true today, my friend."

I looked up into his face and smiled, before looking about. David, still unconscious, had been slung unceremoniously over a horse by one of the soldiers. The Duchess and Princess Beatrice were administering to the Queen, who had been placed into the cart, and seemed shocked but well able to hold her own, giving orders and directions to one of the army captains. Montague sat upon the cart as well, holding the reins. He was bandaged, and looked a little recovered.

Holmes helped me to my feet, and we made our way over to the cart. As we approached, Her Majesty looked up and saw us. A smile spread over her face, and she shook her head as we bowed respectfully. "No, no, gentlemen. You do not bow to me. Dr Watson?" I looked up at her, and she held out a hand, beckoning to me. I walked closer, and to my surprise and much against usual etiquette, she took my hand in hers. "You saved my life, Dr Watson, and did a great service to the Empire. England will always be in your debt. I will always be in your debt." She let go of my hand and asked, "How are you?"

"I am fine, Your Majesty…"

"My dear young man, you are not fine. You are shaking and coughing and wet." She turned to the Duchess, and smiled at her, "You do not mind giving up your seat in this cart to the Doctor do you, Lady Grey?"

The lady grinned back, "Of course not, Your Majesty."

Blushing red, I tried to argue, but my protestations went unheeded. Holmes, grinning, pushed me toward the cart, and gave the Duchess his hand to alight, before pushing me up into the cart. "I will meet you at the castle, my dear Watson," the detective said wickedly, and before I could answer, Montague had urged the horses off, leaving Holmes and the Duchess standing and looking suspiciously like they were giggling.

To be honest, however, I was quite glad for the ride in the cart, as my leg was starting to ache from a combination of exertion and cold water, and even this seemed less humiliation of the thought of having to be bodily carried into Balmoral by Holmes and a selection of soldiers.

We reached the castle about an hour later, our pace slowed by Montague's reluctance to make the ride any rougher for Her Majesty. We came in to be met by a number of Her Majesty's servant, who rushed towards the cart as we entered the carriage courtyard. Quickly, the Queen waved the fussing servants away, was helped from the cart by her daughter and Montague, and signalled for me to follow them. We walked into the warmth of the castle, through a couple of corridors, to a warm, well lit lounge. Montague and the Princess helped the Queen to a large armchair, which she took with a sigh, before waving me to a sofa.

"Now," she said. "I wish to question Dr Darcy, as I am sure will Mr Sherlock Holmes, when they arrive…"

Her words were met by a protest from Montague, who said, "But your Majesty. Do you not think that you should go to bed?"

"No."

"But…"

"No."

"Your Majesty."

"Montague. I am not the one who has been shot. You, my dear Colonel, should go to bed. I will stay here. I am in the presence of not only my daughter, but also a Doctor whose talents I have the utmost faith in," I felt myself blush scarlet, "I will be well."

"If you are sure…"

"Completely. Goodnight Montague. You have served me well today, and should be assured of both my gratitude and a promotion."

Montague smiled a little, then saluted. "Your servant, My Queen."

He left the room as Holmes, the Duchess and the semi-conscious form of Dr Darcy entered, carried by a soldier. He was flung to the ground, his wrists secured in a pair of derbies, before the soldier was waved away by the Queen.

Holmes bowed deeply, as the Duchess curtsied and went to stand next to the Princess, who stood by the side of her mother's chair. They exchanged a couple of quiet words, as Holmes smiled at me, and at Her Majesty's direction came to sit next to me on the sofa. "Alright?" He asked.

"Fine, thank you Holmes."

"Your carriage was quite comfortable?"

"Quite, thank you. And if you ever do anything like that again you will regret it."

Holmes smiled, his manner light, "Threats, old man?"

"Indeed."

"And what do you expect would scare me?"

"I shall write in my next publication in the Strand that you are looking for a wife."

Holmes glanced at me, his lips twitching in an effort to keep from laughing. A groan from the figure lying on the floor in front of us sobered him though, and his expression assumed a look of barely suppressed anger. The faces of the three women also turned to Dr Darcy, as he started to awake.

The Queen caught Holmes' eye and nodded. Holmes stood up, and pulled Dr Darcy into a sitting position, slapping his face to wake him up. "Darcy," he said, his voice full of anger, "Wake up." Darcy did so, coming to alertness and looking into Holmes' face. My friend looked absolutely disgusted at the man in front of him, before standing, and saying, "You will answer my questions. You have been arrested on the charge of attempted murder, murder and high treason, and you should know if you are found guilty, which I am positive you will, you will be executed for your crimes."

David smiled a horrible, cruel smile, and said, "I understand."

All of a sudden, the door swung open, and a figure stood in the doorway. Travelling clothes full of dust, still a little pale and with purple shadows around his eyes, Jack Darcy stood, his eyes surveying the room. He met the Duchess' eyes, and then those of his brother. Was he here to help his brother? Or to confront him? No one seemed to know, and I saw the hands of both my friend and the Duchess close around the revolvers in their pockets.

"Jack…" said Lady Grey, quietly, pleadingly.

Dr Darcy let out a cry, "Help me brother! Help me! They have all conspired against me!" He got shakily to his feet, and stumbled over to his brother.

Jack Darcy stared at him for a moment, before his normally pleasant and handsome face contorted into a look of disgust. "Get away from me!" He cried, "Traitor!" He pushed his brother away from him, to the floor. Dr Darcy growled, like a caged animal and spat onto the floor in front of his brother's boots.

"Coward!" he whispered, then laughed.

We all stood there, all of us on our feet, staring at David. Both the Duchess and Holmes had taken their hands from their pockets, and I noticed a look of complete and utter relief in the eyes of Lady Grey. Holmes meanwhile, always composed, looked upon the face of the traitor.

"You," he said, his voice full of quiet strength, "will sit there, and listen. I know everything. How and why you committed these crimes." He turned to the rest of us. "Sit down," he said, "Dr Darcy is no threat to us."

Her Majesty sat first, her eyes equally on Holmes and David. I sat down on the sofa, and was joined by the Princess. Jack came to sit at a sofa but stumbled, obviously still weak from the red leech. Lady Grey had hurried to him, and taken his arm. At a few inches over six foot, he was a good seven or eight inches taller than her, but she seemed able to get him to an armchair next to that of the Queen. After a quick glance at him, she came to take a seat next to the Princess on the sofa.

Holmes did not sit down, but instead addressed his audience. "The problem with this crime was always motive. Dr Darcy seems to have no motive for committing high treason against the Queen, unlike his late compatriots Ormerod and Denver. It would be easy to attribute the crimes to madness on the part of Dr Darcy, but that is not precise. So we must start from the beginning. Dr Darcy, very cleverly, allowed himself to be seen as the chief suspect for the original attack on the Queen from the outset, thereby, in many people's eyes disqualifying himself from being the actual suspect. Indeed, the government and his own brother brought his cause to the attention of Dr Watson and myself."

Dr Darcy studied Holmes, still smiling, as if he were being praised for cleverness.

Holmes continued, "He had learned about the red leech from his assistant, John Betterman, and ensured that Betterman teach him how to make a red leech. Betterman died for no other reason than because he knew that his master Dr Darcy knew how to breed a red leech. Part of the success of Darcy's plan was to have Lady Grey accused of the murder, so he made sure to murder Betterman on a day that he visited the Duchess. Ormerod and Denver, who were working with Darcy because of a great desire for money and power, both of which he promised them in abundance, were willing to subject themselves to the evils of the red leech to discount them as suspects. He also seduced the maid Hammond to his side, promising her love and romance, both of which she did not have, until she was utterly enslaved to him, willing to do anything he said, even kill her mistress."

Darcy's lips curled into a look of disgust. "The woman was a fool. But I did not kill her."

"No, but you are responsible for her death. She had no idea how to handle the red leech, and she made a mistake. Then you came after me and Watson, and after your own brother, dressing as the Duchess to deliver the murder weapon of a bouquet of flowers to us, then forging Her Grace's handwriting to send a gift and a letter to your brother." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jack go red, but he said nothing. "Throughout the case, you did all you could to accuse Lady Grey of the crime, even going so far as to try and turn her friends and her sisters against her."

The Duchess looked away, her beautiful dark blue eyes staring at a spot on a wall at the other side of the room. The Queen looked up, "I want to know the reason. Why did Dr Darcy try and kill me, and frame one of my most trusted and faithful ladies for the attack?"

I remembered what Holmes had said at the side of the loch. "Love…" I murmured.

"Obsession," corrected Holmes. He turned back to face David. "It started as love. But there is a very thin line between love and hate. You loved, utterly adored, the Duchess, did you not?"

David stayed sat upon the floor, his face twisted into an amused smile. The Queen, meanwhile, had sat forward in her chair, whilst the Princess had gasped. Jack Darcy had snapped upright, his eyes shocked, his face pale. His glance went swiftly to Lady Grey before settling on his brother. The Lady, meanwhile looked completely horrified, staring at Darcy. I must admit myself to being completely amazed by Holmes' statement. Love? But how could Darcy have done such to the woman he loved?

"You loved Her Grace. But she did not return your love. Instead, your own brother, who was also in love with her seemed to be more in Her Grace's favour. So your adoration of her turned to utter hatred and you decided to ruin her life. Your Majesty, Darcy tried to kill you for one reason only - so that he could see the woman he once loved die a traitor's death - a punishment for her rejection of him."

The room was silent. Then David laughed. "Oh, very good, Holmes. You have it all right." He got to his feet, and turned upon the Duchess, his eyes fixed upon her. "What better way to humiliate the woman who humiliated me than to have her die hated and vilified?"

Jack leapt to his feet, and if it were not for Holmes and I placing restraining hands upon his shoulders I believe he would have beaten his brother to a pulp. Instead, the Duchess stood. Back in her eyes was the coldness, the hardness, and a great deal of anger. Her eyes upon David, she said, "You could have done what you liked to me, Darcy. You would not be the only one who hated me. But you have broken my little sister's heart, and for that I will never forgive you." With that, she struck him around the face, with such force that the man fell backwards onto the ground.

The Queen got to her feet, all her strength returned. She looked, at that moment, more majestic than I could have imagined, a woman sure in the knowledge that she had all the power of the British Empire behind her. She pulled on a cord, and two soldiers came through the lounge door. "Dr David Darcy, you will be found guilty of high treason and murder. You will die the traitors death you planned for another." She turned to look at Jack Darcy and Lady Grey, "I am only sorry that two of my most loyal servants have been caught up in this matter. They will shoulder no blame for what has happened in this affair."

Both bowed to her, their eyes fixed upon her. With a nod at us, the Queen left, followed by her daughter, and then Dr Darcy, who was led out laughing maniacally by two soldiers. "He will be dead within the week," said Holmes, "And good riddance."

I looked up in surprise at Holmes' bloodthirsty tone, then nodded. Across the room, Jack and Lady Grey were talking (audibly, much to Holmes' dismay), "I'm sorry," said the girl, "about David. Perhaps it is all my fault."

"No," with that, Jack Darcy took her by the forearms, and said, "None of this was your fault, Magdalena. My brother is a madman - and no longer my brother. And I am sorry that for one second I believed it could be you."

Lady Grey smiled, "To be honest, the case was so growing against me, for one second _I_ believed it was me."

Jack shook his head, soberly, "Be serious, Magdalena."

"Did you really believe it?"

"I hoped it was not true."

"Even to hurt you?" The Duchess' voice was plaintive, in a tone completely unexpected from her.

"No. I didn't think you would hurt me. As soon as I became ill, I realised that it was not you."

The girl laughed, "Oh? Why?"

"Because I knew that behind all the coldness and the sarcasm and sometimes the cruelty, that you would not hurt me."

"It was all a show, you know."

"I always knew that," said Jack, quietly.

"You did?"

"Always."

The girl sighed, then Darcy leant over, pulled her face up to look at him, then kissed her full on the lips. Beside me, Holmes let out a sound of distaste, his face disgusted and bright red. I smothered a smile as the Duchess and Lord Darcy walked over, her hand held tenderly in his. "We must thank both of you," said Jack, and despite the fact he was still a little pale, he looked completely recovered. "You saved Lady Grey's life and that of our Queen, and we are forever in your debt."

"I have no doubt," said Lady Grey, "That her Majesty will want to reward you…"

Holmes shook his head, "We need no reward for serving our country." I smiled, nodding.

"You saved my life as well."

"Your thanks is reward enough," I answered.

"We will invite you to the wedding," said Lord Darcy, a smirk on his face.

Holmes looked completely horrified at the thought of a wedding, which seemed to amuse Lady Grey. She laughed sympathetically, "Although I have not actually been asked yet…" she looked reproachfully at Jack Darcy, "we will send you a piece of the wedding cake."

The couple left shortly after, and Holmes breathed a sigh of relief. "Watson, remind me never to get married."

I laughed, and said, "My dear fellow, I did not think you needed reminding!"


	25. Epilogue

**Finished! I hope you enjoyed the Affair of the Red Leech, hopefully my surmises were a plausible explanation as to what the case could have been. Thank you to everyone who was good enough to review this! I am planning a new story at the moment (as well as the ending to Cursed Treasure), so will be back soon! **

**By the way, there is a poll on my profile page about this story - so please feel free to answer it!**

**Epilogue**

We arrived back in London several days after the arrest of Dr Darcy at Balmoral. After our submersion in the loch, both Holmes and I had developed virulent colds, so we had stopped in the Lake District on the way home to recover. After a few days of refreshing and tiring hikes, and eating the comfortably stodgy food of the welcoming hotel which we stayed in. To my surprise, even Sherlock Holmes partook of the lavishly filled plates of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, toad in the hole and Beef Wellington, and similarly surprisingly, there were no cases which distracted Holmes' mind from his recuperation.

On our arrival in Baker Street, recovered from our adventures in Scotland, and in the possession of a few extra pounds, which at least made Holmes look a bit less of a telegraph pole than he usually did, we were greeted happily by Mrs Hudson, who sent us both upstairs to where a pot of tea and a plate of newly baked biscuits was waiting. Holmes poured us each a cup, and took a handful of biscuits, sitting in his chair in front of the fire, and lighting his pipe. I watched him as he gobbled down a biscuit, and then another, before he realised my eyes were upon him. He blushed slightly, and said, "What?"

"My goodness, Holmes! I see we shall have to go to the Lakes more frequently, if your appetite is affected in such a way."

Holmes smiled wryly, and offered me a biscuit. I grinned and shook my head, before turning back to look at the fire. We had not talked of the case while in the Lake District, and had heard, whilst we were there, of the hanging of Dr Darcy for the murder of John Betterman. In order not to incite panic in the people, the fact that he had tried to murder the Queen and had murdered her maid was not mentioned in any newspaper report, the public only being told that on the night of the first attempt on her life, Her Majesty had been victim of a mysterious illness, which had quickly cleared up.

The newspaper covering the execution of Dr Darcy had been placed next to my chair by Mrs Hudson, and I glanced quickly at the story, which detailed the execution of David in rather graphic detail. The deaths of Hammond, Denver and Ormerod were also mentioned in another paper, the details rather sketchy as to the circumstances of the deaths, merely attributing Hammond's death to an 'accident' and the deaths of Ormerod and Denver to 'an incident at a private hunting party'.

I looked up from the papers, and found Holmes looking at me curiously. I motioned at the papers, "It seems that every aspect of the case is to be concealed."

"Not every aspect, Watson. The murder of Betterman has been revenged. The public will know of Dr Darcy's villainy."

I nodded, feeling a little better, then said, "You do not think that there are any more red leeches, do you?"

"I have heard from my brother that a specialist group went to Dr Darcy's house and practice to destroy the last of his cache of red leeches. All that they could find were destroyed."

I looked up, noting his choice of words, "All they could find?"

"It is somewhat difficult to be sure, seeing as the creature is invisible until it has fed. There was talk of torching the house, but that seemed to be an unnecessarily dramatic punishment for a man who killed a young and obscure chemist."

I looked back at the fire. "Dear heaven, what if there were more of them?"

"I think that highly unlikely. Dr Darcy would not have bred any more red leeches than were absolutely necessary. I believe Mycroft's men have destroyed all of them. I have it on good authority that they are particularly thorough. You should not lose any sleep over it, Watson."

"That is rather unlikely, Holmes."

Holmes opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a knock at the door, and the entrance of Mrs Hudson, "Mr Holmes, Dr Watson, I am sorry to disturb you, but there is a young man downstairs wanting to see you. He says that his name is Lord Darcy…"

"Ah," said Holmes, arising from his chair, "Please invite him up, Mrs Hudson."

The good lady nodded, and re-entered the room a few moments later, followed by Jack Darcy. He looked happier than last we had seen him, and rather a lot younger and healthier. He had seemingly recovered both from the leech's attack upon him, and the news of his brother's treachery - the colour returned to his face, his figure upright and a little more filled out, his eyes sparkling with good humour. He enthusiastically shook us both by the hand, and said, "I will be quick, gentlemen, for I know that you have both just returned, and I do not wish to encroach on your time."

Holmes waved his concerns away, hospitably showed him to a seat, and offered him a cigarette and a light. He re-took his seat, as did I, and said, "Without wishing to dampen your spirits, Lord Darcy, I hear that your brother was executed a couple of days ago."

Soberly, Darcy nodded, "Indeed. Her Majesty has been most gracious to me, making it clear that she does not blame me in the slightest for David's defection. Of course," he said, more to himself than to us, "that does not stop me blaming myself."

Awkwardly, Holmes said nothing, but I said, "It was not your fault. Your brother was an adult and made his own decisions."

Darcy smiled ruefully, "I know. That is what Magdalena keeps telling me."

"And how is your fiancée?" I asked, "Well?"

"She has been wonderful." Jack said, smiling, "She has taken Esther to the continent to recover. The poor child entered a depression after the death of Betterman, and Magdalena wished her to recover a little before the wedding. She will be living with us in London after we are married, until she is well enough to live alone."

I nodded, "Eminently sensible."

"It is the two of you we must thank for our present happiness. If it had not been for you…" he tailed off, not needing to say any more, for we all knew that the penalty for women who were found guilty of treason was beheading.

Changing the subject slightly, I said, "I have a question…if you do not think it too personal."

"Ask away, Dr Watson."

"Your fiancée was not, shall we say, the most pleasant of young women when we first made her acquaintance…"

Jack Darcy chuckled. "You want to know why?"

"If you do not mind answering."

"Of course not. My fiancée, as you know, was the eldest daughter of her family, and fully expected to gain no inheritance from her father after his death. He was a singularly distant man, and Magdalena thought she and her five sisters would have to survive on their own, with her making sure that each of her sisters was safe, and happy. She became cold and hard and unfeeling, because she believed that that was the only way she and her sisters would survive. Then, her father died and left her everything, but her behaviour was no much a habit by then that she could not let it go. She was never really like that, you see, but it was the only way to keep her independence and to look after her sisters."

I nodded in understanding. Holmes said quietly, "A most remarkable young woman," then louder, he said, "And when are you to be married, Lord Darcy?"

"In a couple of months time. You are welcome to come, of course," he saw the expression on Holmes' face, "If you wish to."

He started to rise from his chair. "I wished to thank you, gentlemen, and I shall not impose on you any longer. But," he said to us, "this is from Her Majesty…" he held out two small boxes, and we opened them. Inside my own box was a pair of gold cufflinks, encrusted with small emeralds and rubies, and with 'J.W.' engraved upon them. Holmes' were similar, but had diamonds and sapphires and were engraved with 'S.H.'

Moved, I said, "Her Majesty is too generous."

"The two of you saved her life. She wished to convey her gratitude to you."

Holmes nodded, "Thank you."

Jack Darcy removed a envelope from his pocket. "From my fiancée and I. You need not worry. It is not an invitation." He nodded to us both, before making his way to the door. "You have my eternal thanks, gentlemen. If you ever have any need of assistance, I will be pleased to do all I can for you." With a last smile, he left the room.

Holmes turned the envelope over in his hands, before opening it. Three slips of paper fell out. The first, a hand-written note in a decidedly male hand, read, _'Mr Holmes, Dr Watson, Please accept the enclosed for services rendered to both of us. Jack Darcy and Magdalena Grey._' The two other slips were a cheque for five thousand pounds from Jack Darcy, and another for seven thousand pounds from Magdalena Grey.

For a moment, we stood staring at the two cheques, before Holmes said, "Well, Watson, we shall be able to go and see the Opera tonight."

I motioned at the cheques, and said drily, "You think?"

Holmes grinned, then flew into his room to change. I laughed, then walked up the stairs to do the same, meeting Holmes ten minutes later on the landing, "I thought," said Holmes, "Dinner at Marcini's on the way."

"What? After a full English Breakfast, a roast dinner and half of that plate of Mrs Hudson's biscuits? You are a positive gannet today, Holmes."

He laughed, "A successful end to a difficult but thoroughly interesting case."

"Well then, Marcini's it is."

As we went out the door, Holmes said, rather effusively, "What a wonderful day it is!"

"My dear Holmes! You will soon be waxing lyrical about birds singing and the sunlight through the trees. It seems our positions are reversed, and you have become the poetic one."

Holmes grinned at me, "God forbid. Or I shall have to start writing florid books about our cases like you…"

"And I will have to start doing malodorous chemical experiments and wearing that awful dressing gown."

"Awful?"

"It's dreadful, Holmes. Heaven knows how many times Mrs Hudson has had to darn it. Perhaps with some of that money, you could buy a new one."

Holmes scowled sulkily and said, "You're horrid," but a sparkle in his eyes belied the tone of his voice, and before long, we were walking arm-in-arm through the streets of London. "It is good to be back in London," said Holmes, happily.

I nodded, looked at Sherlock Holmes, whose face was alight with happiness, and said quietly, "Yes. Yes it is."

**THE END**


End file.
